Elegy for a Fallen Heroine
by HonorH
Summary: Angel, Wesley, and Cordelia come to Sunnydale post-"Gift" to grieve and comfort.
1. Messenger

Disclaimer: Joss and David G

Disclaimer: Joss and David G. (and now Marti Noxon) own all these characters and storylines, you know the drill. Joss, Joss, Joss—what's the Numfar of it all?

Note: Normally, I let Joss and Co. clean up their own messes, but I've just got to contribute to the post-"Gift" angstfest. Joss made me cry like a little girly girl. Be warned: this fic is plot-free angst, angst, angst, angst, angst. You should get out now, while you can. Really. I'm not kidding.

Note II: Fine. Be that way. Just remember: I warned you.

Note III: Many, many thanks to Tanja Kinkel and Gyrus, my betas.

****

Elegy for a Fallen Heroine

By

HonorH

Messenger

Willow had been sure she'd run out of tears. There had been so many since that moment when she and the others had seen Buffy's body lying broken on the ground. It was an image that would forever be seared into her mind, like so much over the past few years.

Only this one was worse. So much worse than anything else.

It was a tableau, like the kind her drama teacher taught her: Buffy's body; Giles, looking at his worst nightmare come true (a father lost his child); Xander, in total shock (failure to receive data; please re-send); Anya, cradled in his arms, too dazed to understand (but she did later, and how she cried); Spike, howling, howling like someone had ripped his heart out (it doesn't beat, but it just broke); and little Dawn coming down from the tower, stumbling, soaked in her own blood, wailing and calling Buffy's name like she was trying to wake her sister up . . .

And Willow had cried. Cried so hard Tara had to hold her up. Cried until she threw up, and she couldn't even stop then.

She thought she'd cried all her tears out.

But now, she saw Angel.

He saw her.

She heard her name.

"It's Buffy."

And just like that, the light in his eyes was gone. He had known someone, perhaps even Willow, would be here someday to tell him exactly what she was about to. They'd both known, but it didn't make it any easier. Not for him, not for her.

"I-I'm sorry," Willow stammered as she stood. "I'm so sorry, Angel. I'm so sorry."

Angel gave a minute shake of his head, as if refusing to hear.

"She's dead, Angel." Willow heard herself say the words, and then the tears started again. Sobs shook her body, and suddenly, it was only Cordelia's arms that were holding her up. Willow pressed her face into a velvet-covered shoulder and cried so hard, so hard, like she would never stop . . .

"Bad things happen here, too," a soft voice with a Southern accent said.

And Angel just stood there.

***

When the tears finally stopped, Willow was back on the couch. Cordelia was with her, her own face wet with tears, and the two girls were literally holding each other up. Willow wondered abstractedly what Cordelia's harem girl outfit was all about.

Angel was there beside them, not speaking, not crying, just staring.

"What . . . how did it happen?" he asked in a rough voice. "Tell me everything."

Gunn appeared, bearing a glass of water for Willow. She murmured a thanks and took a few sips, then set the water down. Gunn was looking at Angel, eyes clouded with worry. So was Wesley, standing by Angel's side. Angel didn't look like he saw anything.

Angel knew of Glory and of Dawn's true nature, so Willow began her story with the Hellgod's torture of Tara. Gunn brought in a box of Kleenex to help the young witch through that portion of the story. After she pulled herself together, Willow told as much as she could of the flight from Sunnydale, Glory's kidnapping of Dawn, and the final battle. Cordelia rubbed Willow's back a little as the witch spoke, and the Seer's heart was in her eyes.

When did that happen? thought Willow

"The funeral—it's tomorrow night," Willow told them at last. "We knew you'd want to be there, Angel, and Spike's gonna be there, too, but I hope that won't be a problem, because he really did help us. Please come."

"I will," Angel said, voice soft and hollow.

"How's—how's Dawn?" Cordelia asked. Dawn had once spent a weekend with the group she called the "Fang Gang," and she and Cordelia had become friends.

"She's . . . not okay. She only talked once, when Giles was talking about Buffy's h-headstone. She said she wanted it to say Buffy saved the world a lot. Now she's not talking, or crying, or anything. We don't know what happened to her up on the tower except she was hurt, and she's not talking, and none of us can help her." Willow made herself stop talking before she could start crying again. After a moment, Wesley spoke up.

"We'll start out," and he looked outside at the growing morning light, "this evening. Wait for sunset." Angel looked at him. "I knew Buffy too, Angel. So did Cordy. We should go, too." Willow realized they weren't going for themselves; they were going in order to take care of Angel. "Gunn can take care of things here for a few days. In the meantime, Willow—why don't you rest?"

"She can use my room," said Angel, still hollow. "Take her up there, would you Cordy?"

"C'mon," Cordelia ordered gently, helping Willow to her feet. The young women went upstairs together. Willow was so tired she could barely move, but when Cordelia made her lie down in Angel's bed and pulled the covers over her, the witch didn't sleep. She laid there shivering and occasionally dozing off. Every time she did, she would see Buffy's body again and wake.

One of those times, she opened her eyes to see Angel, freshly showered and tugging on a shirt, in the room with her.

"Angel?" she called.

He turned around, looking at her, eyes dark. "Willow. Are you okay? Do you want anything?"

All Willow's pain suddenly overflowed at those words. "Yeah, I want something. I want to wake up and find out this was all a bad, bad dream. I want Buffy to be alive and slaying, and Dawn to be just a normal, sweet kid, and Joyce to be alive, and Xander to have his job and his girl, and me to have my schoolwork and my girl, and Spike to be obnoxious but helpful, and Giles to—to not be all dead inside, the way he is now. That's what I want. Can't I just order it up? Can't someone please just make all this go away? Please?" She was crying again.

Angel moved a little, as if he wanted to comfort her but couldn't. Willow sat up, pushing the covers off and wiping away her latest tears.

"I want that, too, Willow," Angel whispered.

Willow suddenly felt awful for speaking to him that way. "I'm sorry." She stood up, crossing to the vampire. "I'm really sorry, Angel."

He shook his head, telling her it was all right. "Thanks for coming, Willow."

"I just . . . I just thought, you know, that you should hear it from a friend," she said.

As she looked into his empty eyes, her mind suddenly flashed to Cordelia, lying impaled on the floor of the old factory. Angel's eyes had the same look Cordelia's had then: something so bad had happened that his brain couldn't go anywhere near it for fear of realizing how badly he'd been hurt.

Without thinking, Willow put her arms around him. After a moment, Angel hugged her back just a little. Willow held onto him as tightly as she could, fearing that if she let go, he would fall apart.


	2. Processional

Procession

Processional

Around one o'clock, Willow finally came back downstairs. She picked at a small lunch of Mexican take-out, most of which was being gulped down by the strange girl whose babble reflex made Willow look like Oz, then wandered the halls of the Hyperion aimlessly for hours. Angel was nowhere. Wesley, she learned, had taken Cordelia back to her apartment, and he'd gone to his. Willow finally found the penthouse, where she stood watching the sun track across the sky. As it began to set, she went back downstairs.

Cordelia and Wesley were back, both bearing duffel bags, and Wesley was talking to Gunn and the new girl. Angel came down the stairs just as Willow set foot back in the lobby.

"We should only be gone for three days at the most," Wesley was saying. "Take information from any potential clients and we'll look into it when we get back. Fred," and he was addressing the girl now, "you can use any of the rooms here, and there's food. Gunn will be here sometimes, too. Will you be all right?"

"Right as rain," Fred said. "Been in worse places for longer."

"What should I do if Wolfram & Hart comes knocking?" Gunn asked.

"Don't get in their way," Angel answered tiredly. "Watch what they're doing, though. I don't know why they want the Hyperion, but it can't be good."

"You okay, Will?" Cordelia asked.

Willow just shook her head. She wouldn't be okay, not for a long time.

Wesley scrutinized her for a short while. "Cordelia, why don't you ride with Willow to Sunnydale? Angel and I will follow."

The sun had just set when the four walked out of the hotel. Willow had borrowed Xander's car for the trip, and she and Cordelia got in, waited until Angel and Wesley brought the Angelmobile around, then took off.

Willow could see Cordelia casting worried glances her way every so often. "So what was with the harem girl outfit?" the witch finally asked after five minutes of silence.

"Um, really long story."

"Bad story?"

"No, good. Kind of funny, actually."

"Could you tell it to me?" Willow swallowed. "I think I could use a good, funny-type story right now."

Willow even managed a few little laughs at the saga of the Princess of Pylea, and Cordelia blessedly stretched it out to cover nearly the entire two hours needed to reach Sunnydale. As they entered the town, though, she fell silent.

"Awful, isn't it?" Willow asked, looking around at the destruction. "The news is saying it was an earthquake—denial strikes again. It actually looks worse than it is. Xander's construction crew has been working around the clock to try and fix things. I think he's—he's trying to do anything other than think about . . ."

She trailed off, then started again. "We had some demons brought over from other dimensions, but that actually wasn't as bad as you'd think. See, a whole bunch of the nastiest ones decided to start a war with some other nasty ones, and they ended up pretty much polishing each other off. We had to get some civilians out of the way of the crossfire, though. And then there were a bunch who just couldn't live on Earth for whatever reason, and they died. Really stunk up the place, too. There is this dragon-type thing that keeps buzzing the town, and we don't know how to get rid of it, but it fried a nest of vampires, so that kind of works out. Oh, and Spike got drunk and really angry and went on this all-out demon-killing spree, and he got hurt some, but he must have taken out like fifteen demons that night. Still got a lot left, though."

"Maybe Angel can help," Cordelia suggested.

"Yeah. Is he going to . . ."

Cordelia shook her head. "I don't know. Sooner or later, he's gonna break down, and I'm pretty sure that'll be bad." She looked at Willow. "Wesley and I won't let him fall, though. We'll be there for him."

Willow's brow wrinkled just a little. "You really care for him, don't you?"

"Of course."

"I was just thinking, it's kind of interesting, because you and Xander used to be like President and First Lady of the 'Don't Like Angel' club."

"Yeah, well, things change. People change."

Willow looked over at the person who had once been the bane of her existence, whose shoulder she'd recently cried all over. "Yeah. They do."

The Summers house was the designated gathering point for the remaining Scooby Gang. Angel and Wesley pulled up to the curb behind Willow and Cordelia, and all four started up the front walk.

A dark form with a bleached blond head walked out of the shadows and swayed a little. Spike was drunk again.

"Oh, crap," Willow and Cordelia muttered in perfect tandem.

"There you are," the blond vampire called. "Glad to see you, Peaches. Missed the fight again, did you?"

"Spike, this is a bad idea," Willow warned.

"Bad?" Spike laughed. "No, Red, I think some things need saying." He lurched toward Angel with only a hint of his usual feline grace. "The hero here didn't even bother showing when Buffy needed him most. Off in L of A, playing with his friends, like the cheerleader here, or this wanker," he waved a hand at Wesley, "or that little Irish gink while we were running for our lives. Off brooding over his tortured soul while Buffy was fighting a god. Are you happy?" He was in Angel's face now, shouting. "Couldn't even lend a hand! Maybe if you'd been here, Buffy could have saved Little Bit and not had to take a swan dive into oblivion, and we'd all be sitting around with a pint now instead of putting her in the ground!"

Angel took all this without so much as changing expression. He regarded Spike calmly, almost contemplatively. Then he hit him. Backhanded, with a closed fist, so hard that Spike was knocked over and several feet away. Willow gasped.

Angel then stepped over to the fallen vampire . . . and offered him a hand. Spike rolled over, displaying a rapidly-darkening bruise all over one cheekbone, took Angel's hand, and allowed himself to be helped back to his feet.

"Feel better?" Angel asked.

"A bit," Spike answered.

The others collectively decided it must be a vampire thing.

They finished making their interrupted way up to the front door. Willow opened it. Inside, Xander and Anya stood up from the couch. Giles and Tara were sitting in the kitchen, and they, too, stood. All of them gathered in the entryway.

Cordelia went immediately to Xander and hugged him tight. "How are you?" she asked.

He pulled back and shook his head.

Angel found himself looking at a beautiful girl, all soft curves and huge, liquid eyes. "I'm Angel," he said, and mechanically held out a hand. He noticed too late that her right hand was in a cast.

"I'm Tara. Willow's Tara." She took his right hand with her left, and her eyes reflected his grief. It passed through Angel's mind that she was somehow familiar, but he couldn't think how.

Wesley looked at Giles, compassion in his eyes. "Mr. Giles," he said. "I'm so terribly sorry for your loss."

Something almost like a faint smile crossed Giles' face, and a flicker of something almost like life flashed in his eyes. "Thank you, Wesley."

They stood there, then, a pain-filled silence descending upon them. It stretched taut as a drum.

"Xander and I are getting married," Anya blurted.

***

The Summers house looked like the family had just left on an outing and would be coming back any minute now. Buffy's coat was cast over the back of a chair. A pile of letters sat on the dining room table. Some insurance forms were scattered about on a coffee table. Dawn's tennis shoes laid in the middle of the floor. A few folded kitchen towels sat on the counter. A note for Mom to call Sara Bannick at 555-3472 rested by the telephone.

There was nothing to indicate a happy family had been shattered here except the people sitting around the living room with raw soul-wounds showing through their eyes.

They found things to talk about: the tea Giles served, funeral preparations, the state of Sunnydale. Anya and Xander sat on the floor, as close to each other as they could get. Tara sat in a chair with Willow on the floor in front of her, leaning on her legs. Giles and Wesley stood. Angel and Cordelia had taken the couch.

They talked, voices soft and sad, but sharing no intimacy. They were too locked in their own grief, or hurting too much for another.

Dawn Summers, a little ghost wrapped in her sister's favorite shawl, entered the room. Xander and Willow both spoke her name, but the girl paid attention to no one but Angel.

Her appearance was shocking. Her skin was dead white, with dark circles under her eyes. She was skeletal, looking like she hadn't eaten or slept since Buffy's death. As she stood in front of Angel, she seemed scarcely more human than he.

Angel did nothing but watch her as she came closer.

"Why?" she finally asked. There was no name for the emotion in her voice. "She gave you up. She sent you to Hell. Why not me?"

"There . . ." Angel swallowed, trying to find the words. "There was no other way, with me. She had to do what she did. With you, she had the choice. She couldn't give you up."

"But why?" Dawn demanded again.

"Because she loved you."

"She shouldn't have!" Dawn suddenly cried. "I wish she hadn't!"

Her hand came up and locked across her mouth, as if she'd never wanted to let that slip, and a harsh keen forced its way out of her throat.

Wesley recognized the speed at which Angel moved: the same speed he caught Cordelia with when she was struck by one of her visions. His arms flashed out, grabbing Dawn and pulling her down beside him on the sofa before she could fall. Then his arms wrapped around her as she broke down completely.

And his eyes blazed raw pain as he held the child.

For a long time, there was no sound but that of Dawn's sobs. Angel's eyes found Wesley's and plead silently for help. Wesley just nodded reassuringly, throat tight. Cordelia sniffled softly and laid her hand on Angel's shoulder, comforting him. The remaining Scoobies all struggled with their own tears. Spike abruptly turned and walked out, leaving the door open while he smoked a cigarette on the step.

Finally, Dawn moved, curling up in Angel's embrace. He cradled her in his lap and gently rubbed her temple with one thumb. Soon, her eyes glazed over, then shut.

"She's asleep," Angel whispered.

"Thank God," Giles said. His glasses had come off.

"How long . . ?" Angel trailed off.

"A few days." Giles polished his glasses distractedly. "She hasn't spoken or cried until now. I only hope . . ."

Angel nodded. He scooped up Dawn's slight form in his arms and carried her up the stairs to her bedroom. After he'd tucked her in, he re-emerged into the hallway.

The pull was too strong. He turned away from his planned course back down the stairs and walked slowly, painfully, to Buffy's room. His hand reached out, seemingly unattached to his mind, and opened the door.

He just stood there, looking in, one hand on the doorframe, one held in front of him as if the doorknob was still in his hand. His vampire senses took in the whole room: the bed, slightly rumpled; a sweater thrown over a chair; one of her dresser drawers hanging open; a pair of shoes casually cast off in the middle of the floor; her scent, all over everything.

A cracking sound startled him, and he jumped back. Somehow, the molding around the doorframe had splintered. A sharp piece of wood was lodged in his hand. He pulled it out and started back downstairs, stopping to check whether the sound had disturbed Dawn. It hadn't.

Cordelia was there as he hit the landing, embracing him. He held on to her like she was his lifeline. In the living room, Willow was crying again. This time, it wasn't the wrenching sobs that had torn her apart in L.A.; it was a soft, exhausted weeping she was just too tired to stop.

"Baby, let me take you home," Tara murmured in her ear.

"I can't," Willow gasped, near hysterics. "Someone's got to be here, s-stay here for Dawnie. I can't just leave!"

Cordelia detached herself from Angel. "Will, don't take this the wrong way, but you look like hell. All of you do. Have any of you gotten more than three hours of sleep since . . . it happened?"

"Xander hasn't," said Anya, looking at her fiancé with worried eyes. "He hasn't slept at all."

Angel felt one step short of coming apart. He could smell Dawn's grief and pain all over his shirt. "Giles, is there . . ."

"Scotch, above the sink."

"Thank you." The vampire went and poured himself two fingers, which were quickly downed. It didn't quite take the edge off, but he put the alcohol back where he'd found it before he could pour more.

"You should all go home," said Wesley, voice soft with compassion. "We can take care of things tonight. Cordelia can stay here with Dawn."

"I'll do a patrol," Angel volunteered.

"That's a good idea," said Wesley. "Do you want help?"

Angel shook his head. "I'll be back before sunrise. If not here, the mansion." He pulled on his coat and left.

Willow stood to her feet, helped by Tara. "You guys—you're sure you don't want somebody else here? 'Cause I could stay, you know."

"Will, go home," Cordelia insisted. "Let us take care of things here. We're just getting started on our sleepless-and-strung-out look."

"Whereas I've had mine for three days now," put in Xander. "I think maybe . . . maybe . . ." He slumped. "I don't know what I was trying to say there."

"Let's go home," pleaded Anya.

She and Xander helped each other to their feet, Anya moving stiffly from her injuries. Xander gave Cordelia one last hug and left. Willow, still crying, also hugged her and Wesley before going.

Wesley walked over to Giles. "You should go, too. Try and sleep."

"You say that as if it's a desirable thing," said Giles, but he, too, left.

***

In the alley beside the Bronze, a vampire slammed into a wall with a brutal crunch.

"Hi, Joey," hissed Angel. "Miss me?"

"A-Angel?" the vampire whimpered. "Oh, good, you're back."

"Still working Fry's old gang, Joey?"

"Hey, man, you know I'm not really in it. I just . . ."

"Play snitch for every demon in town. Yeah, I know, Joey."

"Guy's gotta have an unlife, you know."

Angel thought it over. "No, actually, you don't."

Angel whipped him around. A stake appeared in the elder vampire's hand and slammed toward Joey's heart. Joey's scream cut off as he realized he wasn't dust. The stake had pierced his skin, but stopped short of his heart.

"I need you to do me a favor, Joey," Angel said conversationally.

"Sure, man, whatever you need from me, I'm there . . ."

"I want you to deliver a message to every vampire you can find, Joey. The Slayer's funeral is tomorrow night. I hear some vamps are planning to party. Here's the message: there is no party, Joey. Not one of the mourners dies. Understood?"

Joey nodded hastily. "No killing mourners. Got it."

"Good. Because Joey—if even one buys it, I will personally hunt down every bloodsucker in town, starting with you—although you won't necessarily be the first to actually die. Get it?"

The young vampire turned a whiter shade of pale. "Got it."

"Good." Angel patted his cheek and released him. "Run along, Joey. Be a good boy."

Joey retreated as fast as his legs could carry him. Angel watched him go, something dark and implacable in his eyes.

"That looked like fun," said a voice from the mouth of the alley.

Angel breathed a sigh of annoyance. "Spike. I thought I smelled you."

Spike took a drag from his cigarette. "I take it I shouldn't dust Joey while I'm out for my nightly spot o' violence, then."

"Why are you here, Spike?"

"Like I said, spot of violence. About like you."

In another moment, Spike, like Joey before him, was pinned to the wall by Angel's hands and arms. "No, Spike. Why are you _here_?"

"Because I was invited." Spike looked steadily into Angel's eyes. "Because Buffy wanted me to watch over Dawn."

"Don't speak her name," Angel growled.

"Why not? I loved her. Just like you."

Angel slammed him against the wall again. "No. Not just like me, Spike. I don't know what your game is, but you have no idea what I feel."

"That makes two of us," Spike shot back. "You're out here putting the fear of Angelus into a bunch of demons rather than facing what's inside."

He was abruptly released. Angel took a step back, breathing heavily. "You don't know me at all, William."

Spike rubbed his throat. "And you don't know me, either. There is no game, you great poof. I was in love with Buffy, and I'm right fond of Little Bit. I tried my best to save both of them. Hell, if you'd been there, I'd have fought alongside you for them. I just . . ." He shook his head. "I wasn't good enough. And if you don't know all this, why'd you hit me earlier on?" The bruise was still dark against his cheekbone.

"You wanted it."

"Damn right I did. Took my mind off the look in Dawn's eyes when she knew I wasn't going to be able to rescue her, if only for a second."

Angel shook his head. "Since when have you developed a conscience?"

"Since when have I been able to lie to your face?"

For a moment, the vampires just looked at each other. Angel took a step forward, his eyes probing Spike's.

"What is it you want, William?"

"For tonight, I'd like to tag along. Looks like there's real fun to be had where you're headed." Spike's blue eyes didn't waver even a little under Angel's intense stare. "For tomorrow night, I want to be one of the mourners—without you questioning me on it. She may not have loved me, but she let me be her friend. That meant more to me. A whole hell of a lot more."

Angel took this in. "Not that you wouldn't have settled for her _only_ being in love with you."

"What, I look stupid?" Spike scoffed.

The slightest shadow of dark humor wafted across Angel's face. "All right, then. Truce. Understand, though, that if you ever hurt any one of Buffy's friends, if you let Dawn down in any way . . ."

"You'll yank out my tripes and feed them to me. Yeah, yeah, yeah. Can we please find something to kill?"

Angel wheeled, his coat flowing around him. "Come along. There'll be plenty of death where I'm going."


	3. Steps

Steps

Steps

Dawn woke slowly. Her whole body felt like it was made of clay. Her mind, too. She remembered the night before.

__

. . . cried all over him, I swear he'll think I'm a freak, and oh, God, what did I say to him, how could I have said that_ to him, I can't face any of them, no, not ever again . . ._

She wanted to burrow back under her covers and never come back out, but she desperately needed to use the bathroom. With great effort, she forced herself to sit up and swing her feet off the bed. There was a squeak of alarm from the floor.

"Careful where you're putting those, Dawnie," Cordelia's voice said. Dawn looked down, mildly curious to find the Seer cocooned in blankets beside the bed. Cordelia disentangled herself and sat up, folding her arms on the side of the bed and propping her head on them. "How are you feeling this morning?"

"I . . ." Dawn thought about it a long time. "I can't tell. Does Angel . . . hate me? For what I said? Do you hate me?"

Cordelia's hand reached out and squeezed Dawn's wrist. "Of course not. Of course not. Don't even worry about that. All we're concerned about is you."

__

. . . they're all being so nice, but they can't see, can't see what's in here, they'd all be so upset if they knew I'm going crazy, because that's what this must be, I can't stop all these thoughts that are running through my head, taking over, and I can't trust my feelings, not at all . . .

Dawn shut her eyes, trying to stem the tide. "Tonight . . . it's the . . ."

"Funeral," Cordelia gently supplied. "Yes, it is."

__

. . . they'll put her in the ground, the cold ground, just like Mommy, they'll shut her up in a box and just put her there, and I'll never see her again, and oh, God, stop my brain, think of anything else, think of A Wrinkle in Time, think of books, but not those horrible Lurlene McDaniel romances my friends are all into, where the characters are all dying and it's supposed to be romantic and beautiful, only it isn't, because they don't understand death's not beautiful, it's ugly, they don't see it all broken on the ground or staring at you so cold . . .

"Dawn?" asked Cordelia. "Hey, Dawn, come back."

"I-I don't think I can. I don't think . . . I'm not ready. Not tonight."

"Then let's not think of tonight." Dawn looked at her, startled. "Let's just think of going downstairs and eating breakfast. I think I smell Angel cooking."

"I'm not sure I can do that, either."

Cordelia pushed herself to her feet. "I think you can. In fact, I'm pretty sure of it. Come on." She held out a hand.

__

. . . she sounds so sure, maybe she is, Cordelia's always sure of everything, maybe I can eat, you know, Buffy wanted me to live, she thought I could live, and eating's, well, you eat to live, so maybe I can do that . . .

Dawn took the offered hand and stood to her feet, allowing Cordelia to support her. "I've got to pee."

"We'll hit the bathroom on the way, all right?"

Dawn nodded. "Okay. Just . . . go slow."

"One step at a time, sweetie. We'll do this one step at a time."

***

It took a long time for Giles to wake up. It wasn't so much the fact that he'd had two glasses of bourbon the night before as it was the feeling that there was nothing to wake up for. He pondered that thought.

Since Buffy's death, he'd slept no more than one, maybe two hours at a time, and that only when he couldn't find something else to do. Now, waking after some six hours of slumber, feeling more or less rested, he realized he'd never truly awakened to a world without Buffy in it. For so long, she'd been his reason.

Part of him didn't want to get up. What would be the point, anyway?

But there was one last thing he could do for her: take care of her friends and her sister. Taking care of them meant being at the funeral. Being at her sodding funeral.

So he stood, and he stretched, and he showered, and he dressed. He paid little attention to what he wore—a random shirt, jacket, and pair of slacks. Everything in his closet matched, anyway. Then he walked out his front door, shutting and locking it behind him. He got into his car, started it, and drove to the Summers home.

Inside was an incongruously homey sight. The kitchen shades were drawn, keeping out the sunlight, and Angel—Angel!—was busily flipping pancakes. Wesley, Cordelia, and Dawn, yes, Dawn, were all sitting at the table eating. Dawn, Giles noticed, was eating very slowly, as if every bite was an effort, and frequently took sips from her glass of milk. Cordelia and Wesley were talking quietly. They both looked up as Giles entered.

"Hey, Giles," said Cordelia, not quite cheerfully, but making an effort. "Do you want breakfast?"

Giles started to say no, but just then, Dawn looked up at him. If she could force herself to eat, Giles decided he could, too. "Yes, I think I do."

"Here," said Angel, behind him. Giles turned and received a plate with two pancakes on it. As he did so, he looked into Angel's eyes.

Blank. Empty. The vampire was keeping the pain at bay through sheer force of will, almost as if he was frightened of what it would do to him. And that, Giles decided, was a most interesting choice of words. As he sat down at the table, the Watcher looked over at Wesley and Cordelia. Wesley nodded minutely. They were keeping an eye on their friend.

"Good morning, Dawn," Giles said.

"Morning." Her voice was very small, but after days of not speaking, then the previous night's outburst, it was a great improvement. She set down her fork, looking at the remains of the pancake on her plate. It was a little better than half-eaten. "I don't think I can finish this." The last words were spoken to Cordelia.

"That's okay," Cordelia reassured her. "Probably best not to push your stomach. Can you finish your milk?"

Dawn nodded and drank the rest of her glass. "What now?"

"How about a shower?" Cordelia fingered a little of Dawn's hair. "No offense, but you smell a little funky, and ew—grease!"

A wan smile flitted across Dawn's face. It hit Giles that the older girl's take-charge attitude was probably exactly what Dawn needed to get through the day. The child stood, taking her plate back into the kitchen and giving it to Angel. Then, to Giles' surprise, Dawn walked over to the Watcher and wrapped her arms around his neck. He hugged her back for a moment, and then she went upstairs to shower.

Giles took a few moments to spread some jam on his pancakes. An empty glass appeared by his elbow, and he filled it with orange juice. "How is she?" he asked when he ran out of distractions.

"Not quite all there," said Cordelia. "She's just . . . hurting so bad she can't even think right now. I'm just trying to help her get through the next five minutes."

"It looks like you're doing wonderfully." Giles looked at her, suddenly overwhelmed by pride. He had known, in an abstract way, that the teenage queen named Cordelia Chase had hidden depths. Those depths were no longer hidden. "Sometimes, the next five minutes are the hardest thing in the world."

***

Willow was trying very hard to not obsess about the little things. Therein, she thought, lies the road to madness. She had purposely gone with her first instinct on what to wear and had done her hair as simply as possible. Makeup was another story. Willow generally didn't wear much, but the sight of her pale face in the mirror had shocked her into digging out some foundation and blush.

Tara entered the room, putting on earrings. Her shirt was pearl gray, paired with an off-white broomstick skirt. She crossed the room and put her arms around Willow from behind.

"How are you this morning?"

Willow held onto her lover's arms. "I think I'm okay. A little. It's . . . subject to change without notice."

Tara squeezed her tighter. "I know."

"I mean, I think I'll be okay for the funeral, but just to warn you now, I'm fairly certain I'm going to fall apart afterward."

"I'll be here."

"I know." Willow stood and hugged Tara tight, desperate for the warmth of her. "I'm so glad you're here. I don't know what I'd do . . ."

"Shh," whispered Tara. "I'm here. I'll always be here."

Willow pulled back enough to press her forehead against Tara's, then let go and continued with her makeup.

"Willow."

"Yes?"

"How well do you know Angel?"

Willow shrugged. "He's not exactly easy to know. I mean, I knew him in high school, sort of, and I always liked him, but I don't think we were exactly what you'd call friends. Buffy, she knew him, and Wesley and Cordy do, too, I guess, but . . ." She cut her babble off. "Why?"

Tara shook her head, examining some of Willow's knickknacks. "I . . . he was giving me the strangest look last night. He kept doing little double-takes at me. Is that something he usually does?"

"No." Willow's forehead crinkled. "That's not like Angel at all, as far as I know. You should really ask Cordy, though." She snapped her makeup bag shut and sighed. "How do I look? Be honest. On a scale of one to ten, with ten being Charlize Theron and one being 'Demon begone,' where am I?"

Tara smiled. "Eleven. You're always my eleven."

The redhead smiled back, but her face crumpled a moment later. Tara stepped forward and took her in her arms again.

"I can't believe this is happening," Willow whispered, barely holding back the tears. "Buffy knew, she always knew. She said Slayers don't live long, and she told me that whenever it happened, she didn't want me to be sad, but I can't help it."

"No, you can't," Tara whispered.

"I just . . . it's not fair. It's not fair at all."

"No."

Willow rallied, pulling back from Tara and blinking away the tears. "We should go. I want to be there for Dawn. And Angel. And Xander. Giles, too."

Tara took her hands. "We can do this. We'll be strong."

"Like Amazons."

"Like Amazons."

***

"Anya!"

The ex-demon poked her head into the bedroom at her fiancé's call. "What is it?"

"Have you seen my green socks? I can't find them, and I know I just did laundry . . . was it last week?" Xander was stirring his sock drawer. "I'm thinking I'll wear my green button-down, but you've gotta have the green socks for that. Unless you want to look like a fashion victim, and hey—not anxious for Cordy to see me looking like that. Not that I really care if she thinks I'm a fashion victim or not. I just . . . have you seen those socks?"

"I haven't."

"I know I just had them last week. I wore my green shirt for that site management meeting."

"Honey . . ." Anya looked worried, confused. "That was two weeks ago."

Xander slammed his sock drawer shut. "Right. Two weeks. Back then, I had green socks, and Buffy wasn't dead. How about we all go back there?"

"Xander, why are you acting like Willow?" Xander stared at his fiancee. "This is the way Willow was acting when we heard about Joyce. Why are you doing it? Does it help?"

Xander bit his lip. "Yeah. Obsessing about something idiotic helps take your mind off the fact that somebody ripped your guts out. Doesn't work for long." He ran a hand through his hair. "This just . . . Buffy was alive, An. Nobody was as alive as she was. That's why I loved her the second I saw her. She was special, and not just because she was the Slayer. She was . . . Buffy. I don't know what the world's going to be like without her. I'm not sure I want to know."

Anya looked into his eyes for a long time, then walked to the closet and pulled out a dark red, long-sleeved shirt. She produced matching socks from the drawer and handed the clothes to Xander.

"Here," she said. "Buffy always liked you in red, didn't she? You should wear red." The ex-demon pulled back. "Or do you need to obsess a little longer?"

Xander took the clothes and set them on the bed, then pulled Anya close. "What would I do without you?"

She held onto him as tightly as she could. "You'll never find out. I promise."

***

Wesley walked up the stairs of the Summers home, making for the guest room. Cordelia had sent Angel there an hour ago, but Wesley had an odd feeling the vampire wasn't going to take her advice and get some sleep. As he came to the door, the ex-Watcher paused only briefly before quietly opening it and walking in.

Angel stood before the window, staring out. Fortunately, the window had northern exposure, so no direct sunlight was coming in. Still, it unnerved Wesley to see Angel silhouetted against the light like that.

"Angel?" he called softly.

"Wesley." Soft, flat voice.

Wesley went to stand beside him. "Angel, what's happening with you?"

The vampire shook his head. "I don't know. I couldn't say."

The ex-Watcher looked at Angel's taut profile, weighing what to say. "We made the mistake last year of not talking to you. Letting you get away with freezing us out. That's the last thing I want to let happen again, Angel. Cordelia and I are here for you."

Angel's eyes flicked to Wesley, and for a moment, there was emotion in them again. "I know. I just . . . can't right now."

It wasn't the answer Wesley had hoped for, but he realized he couldn't press the issue any further, not right now. "Cordelia has asked me to keep Dawn occupied, so I have to go back downstairs."

Angel nodded. "Yeah. Yeah. She needs you."

"So do you." On impulse, Wesley set his own hand over Angel's, which was resting on the window frame. "Whenever you feel you can talk, whenever you need us, we're here, Angel. We're not letting you go."

Angel nodded again, still numb, still locked within himself. Wesley gave his hand one last squeeze, then withdrew. He decided it had been a thoroughly unsatisfying conversation.

Still troubled, he made his way back down to the living room. There, he found Dawn examining a picture. As he came closer, he realized it was one of Joyce, Buffy, and Dawn in better times. All three looked so happy, so carefree.

"Dawn?" he asked softly.

She turned. Cordelia had gotten her into a pair of jeans and a long-sleeved tee. So thin had the child become that the clothes hung off her. Still, there was a little color in her cheeks, which was a definite improvement.

"Wesley," she said. Her voice was as soft and flat as Angel's had been, but with an underlying vulnerability he hadn't shown.

The plan that had seemed intelligent earlier now struck him as unspeakably stupid, but he clung to it gamely. "I, um, noticed the cribbage set earlier and was wondering if you played."

Dawn shook her head. "It was my mom's. I never learned."

"Perhaps I could teach you, then. Would you like that at all?"

"This is just to pass the time, isn't it?" she asked. There was a dangerous fragility in her voice now.

Wesley sighed. "Actually, I was hoping to help you get your mind off time passing, and believe it or not, this was the best idea I could come up with."

Something in that honesty seemed to reach Dawn. She carefully set down the picture frame, then reached down and picked up the cribbage set from under the coffee table. "Okay," she said.

"Thank you," he confided. "This keeps me from getting into trouble with Cordelia."

A tiny smile touched Dawn's face at that, and Wesley suddenly felt much more satisfied.

***

The minute Willow walked through the door of the Summers residence, Cordelia yanked her aside and started giving sotto voce orders.

"All right. Dawn showered, and I got her into some clothes. Not her funeral outfit—we'll deal with that later. It's been about four hours since she ate breakfast, so she's going to need lunch here soon. I need to get myself cleaned up, so you'll have to take care of that. Just put something in front of her and tell her it's lunch like there's no question she'll eat it, and she will. Just be positive. And whatever you do, don't talk about the funeral or anything that's happening any further than five minutes away. Okay?"

"Uh, okay." Willow was just a little confused. "What's happening?"

Cordelia peeked into the living room, where Dawn was playing a quiet game of cribbage with Wesley. "Dawn's barely going to get through the day as is. Keep her in the moment."

Willow nodded. "In the moment. Got it. I can do that." Cordelia flashed her a smile and turned to head up the stairs. Willow caught her. "Wait. What should I do for lunch? I-I'm not very good with food. I mean, about all I can cook is grilled cheese sandwiches . . ."

"So make her one. Just don't show any doubt that she'll eat."

"Okay. But why me? Why not Wesley? Or Angel?"

Cordelia made a disgusted noise. "Please. Men simply cannot do this sort of thing. Besides, Wesley's got his hands full making sure Angel's not going nuts—he's upstairs in the guest room, by the way. Not sleeping. You'll do fine, Willow." With that, Cordelia went upstairs to shower.

Willow ended up making a grilled cheese sandwich and tomato soup. She got Wesley's attention, and he sent Dawn into the kitchen.

"Lunchtime," said Willow, gesturing awkwardly at the soup and sandwich. "Time to eat. I made . . . lunch."

To her surprise, Dawn sat down without protest. She only ate half the sandwich, but she finished a bowl of soup and another glass of milk. Afterward, she went back to the living room. There, she sat on the couch by Tara, who was flipping through a National Geographic one-handed and humming abstractedly. Dawn leaned against her. Tara, moved by some instinct, placed a throw pillow in her lap and guided Dawn's head down to rest there. Within a few minutes, the girl was asleep.

Cordelia came back down the stairs in fresh clothes. She looked approvingly at the scene in the living room, walking over and holding out a hand to Tara.

"I don't think we really met last night. I'm Cordelia."

Tara displayed her bandaged hand apologetically, and Cordelia withdrew hers, understanding. "I'm Tara. I'm pleased to meet you."

Cordelia gestured at Dawn. "Is she . . ?"

"Just napping, I think. That's good, isn't it?"

"Perfect." Cordelia smiled. "Nice to meet you, Tara." She turned and went into the kitchen.

Willow held out a glass of iced tea to her. "I forgot I can make iced tea, too."

Cordelia took it and sat down at the table. Willow sat with her. "Thanks, Will. Dawn ate, didn't she?"

"Yep. Not very much, but way better than nothing. How's Angel doing?"

Cordelia sighed. "I really don't know. My guess is that we're looking at one hell of a delayed reaction here. This is so not going to be fun." She rubbed her forehead. "This has been an incredibly tough year for all of us, especially Angel. He got . . . he got lost, Will."

"Lost how?"

"Long, long story. The short version is, he got royally screwed over in the worst possible way and went a little postal. Really postal, actually. We didn't know what to do, or how to reach him. He ended up shoving us all out of his life—Wesley and Gunn and me. That was . . . really hard. It took awhile, but he did finally come back to us. For those few months, though, it hurt. Worse than anything that's ever happened to me, it hurt. But he found his way back, and we got to be family again."

She looked at Willow. "You know, I always used to envy you and Buffy and Xander. I envied you guys so much."

That, Willow had not expected. "You did? Why? You had, like, everything."

"I had nothing," Cordelia countered. "Nothing that mattered, anyway. Nothing the IRS couldn't take away. You guys, though—you had each other, in a way I didn't have anybody. Nobody cared about me like that. Not until Angel and Doyle. I went from having nobody to having Angel, Wesley, and Gunn. Three wonderful, totally exasperating big brothers who would cross into a demon dimension to save me." She bit her lip, eyes moist. "I'm not letting him go again, Willow. I can't."

"I know." Willow reached out and squeezed Cordelia's hand. "He's lucky to have you."

Cordelia pulled herself back together. She glanced back to where Tara was still humming softly and stroking Dawn's hair. "So Tara's your SO, huh?"

"She's my girl," Willow said proudly.

"She seems really nice."

"She is."

Cordelia's face scrunched. "Xander's really getting married? Isn't that, like, against the laws of God and nature or something?"

Willow grinned. Some things about Cordelia Chase would never change.

***

Dawn slept for about a half-hour, awakening just before Xander and Anya made their appearance. Xander was in his red shirt and camel-colored slacks, and Anya was wearing a blue sundress. They were immediately placed on "Dawn detail" by Willow and Cordelia. Xander dug out a game of UNO, which Dawn played listlessly, but it got her talking a little.

Then, just after three, someone else knocked on the door. Cordelia opened it to reveal . . .

"Oz," she said, blinking.

"Hi," said the werewolf.

Oz's name was echoed around the room. Xander abandoned his cards.

"Oz, man, am I glad to see you!" The two gave each other a manly, back-slapping hug. "How did you ever . . ."

"Oz." Angel had appeared at the top of the stairwell. "Glad you could make it."

"Thanks for giving me the heads-up." At Xander's startled look, Oz told him, "Angel and I email. Have for awhile."

"I thought he should know," said the vampire, sounding a little unsure of himself.

Willow approached her former lover. "Oz, I-I'm—it's really great that you're here. I mean, I wish it was for any other reason, but . . ." She stood there awkwardly.

Oz's face eased into a near-smile. "It's okay, Will."

"Good." Willow walked forward and hugged him tight. "I'm glad you could make it, too."

They stepped apart. "I was in southern Oregon when I got Angel's email. Drove here as fast as I could." He shook his head. "How did it happen?"

Willow took a quick glance at Dawn, then at Tara, who smiled softly and nodded. Willow gave her a grateful look. "How about we sit down in the kitchen, and I'll tell you. Are you hungry at all?"

Xander looked over at Tara. "Want to take over my hand?"

"Sure," said the witch, and she picked up Xander's cards. The UNO game continued between her, Dawn, and Anya. Xander joined Willow and Oz in the kitchen.

At four, Giles came back to the house, having been involved with last-minute preparations at the funeral home. He greeted Oz and conferred briefly with Xander, Willow, Wesley, and Cordelia. Cordelia then went upstairs and fetched a brush, a comb, and a cordless curling iron. She returned to the living room and began to work on Dawn's hair. She plaited four tiny braids leading back from Dawn's face, secured them at the back with a clip, and curled the rest. After Dawn's hair was finished, Willow took her upstairs to pick an outfit.

At five-thirty, Xander and Anya went and fetched some Chinese take-out for dinner. Tara loaded up a plate with Mongolian beef, steamed rice, and an egg roll and gave it to Dawn. The girl finished about two-thirds of it. Angel returned to the downstairs. Dawn, once she finished her dinner, sat down beside him on the couch. Neither spoke.

At six-thirty, Spike walked through the front door.

"It's time," he said.

To be continued . . .


	4. Requiem

Requiem

Requiem

There would be no formal funeral service for Buffy Anne Summers. After talking it over, the Scooby Gang had come to the conclusion there was no way any service could express what Buffy had been to them—or the whole world. Instead, the graveside service would be . . . a little different.

There certainly hadn't been lack of clergy willing to do the service. Literally every clergyperson in town had been saved by Buffy at one time or another, and most had called to offer their services for the funeral, free of charge. Giles had politely declined all offers but one from Father Daniel Byrnes, the cheerful, round-faced priest who had kept Buffy supplied with holy water for the last three years. Father Byrnes would consecrate the ground Buffy laid in, to allow her the rest in death she'd been denied in life.

Giles, Xander, Angel, and Spike would be Buffy's pallbearers. Giles reflected that Buffy would surely be the only Slayer in history whose coffin was borne by even one, let alone two, vampires. As they approached the closed casket, the Watcher looked back at Angel.

"Do you want . . . would you like to see her?"

Angel stood stock-still. "No. Yes." He shook his head. "No."

"Are you quite sure?" Wesley asked gently from behind him.

The vampire closed his eyes. "No."

Giles nodded once and opened the casket, stepping back. He had no wish to see Buffy's body again. He knew what she looked like: long, coral-colored dress with matching headband, seashell earrings and pendant, hair fanned out around her face, face in gentle repose, almost like sleep. But not.

Angel approached slowly. Every movement was an effort as he moved closer to the coffin and forced himself to look at the still form within it. One hand rose, reaching out toward Buffy's face . . .

And was abruptly withdrawn. Angel turned away. Wesley's face tightened with concern.

Giles closed the casket, and Angel turned back toward it, seeming to have rallied. The two men and two vampires lifted it from its stand, Giles and Xander in front, Spike and Angel in back. Slowly, with infinite care, the four bore the coffin out of the chapel and toward the graveyard, Dawn walking ahead of them.

As they exited the chapel, they became aware of something wondrous: people. A huge crowd had gathered, many of whom the Scooby Gang knew only in passing. As Giles recognized a few faces—former Sunnydale High attendees, clergy and their families, Buffy's college friends, even Willy the Snitch—he suddenly realized why they were here: to pay tribute to the Slayer, because they knew none of them would be alive without her.

The sea of people parted to allow Dawn to pass through. Soft murmurs of sympathy washed over the girl, who looked around with pure amazement in her eyes. The pallbearers with the coffin came next, and behind them, Buffy's loved ones. They and the whole crowd moved toward the plot that had been chosen for Buffy, a beautiful spot beside her mother under a tree that would provide dappled shade during the day.

As they reached it, Willow and Tara went on ahead. Standing on either side of the grave, they chanted softly, then threw spell-sand in the air. There was a burst of light, and a soft radiance centered itself above the grave that would be Buffy's resting place.

After positioning the coffin, Giles, Xander, Angel, and Spike stepped back. Willow stood at Buffy's headstone and addressed the crowd, her voice magically amplified.

"We come to bear witness to the deeds of Buffy Anne Summers, the Chosen One. All who wish to speak will be heard. I witness that Buffy not only kept me from death more times than I can count, she taught me how to live. Buffy was my best friend. She lent me her strength when I needed it, and she allowed me to be strong for her when she couldn't be. All the courage I possess, I owe to her."

Jonathan Levenson stepped up to the grave. "Buffy showed me I wasn't alone, and that there are heroes in the world." He placed a single flower on her coffin.

Xander was next. "Everything brave or worthwhile I do can be traced back to Buffy. I don't know who I'd be without her, and I don't want to know." He left a white rose on her coffin. As he stepped back, Anya wrapped her arms around him, and he buried his face in her hair.

Tara came forward next. "Buffy helped me to understand what family really is."

Pastor Mike Vaughn, a Baptist minister, was next. "Buffy Summers saved not only my life, but every member of my family. I have prayed for her every day of the last five years, because she was the answer to my prayers when she came here."

And so it went. People came forward, some with wounds suffered at the hands (or teeth) of demonic creatures and stories of how Buffy saved them. Not all spoke. Spike stepped forward wordlessly to lay a yellow rose of friendship on Buffy's coffin. Dawn didn't speak either, just placed her pink rose on the coffin. She swayed just a little as she did so. Spike was the one who caught her elbows and supported her, then pulled her back.

Angel stepped forward. He kissed the red rose he held in his hand and placed it on the casket, and his soft "Beloved" murmured through the crowd, amplified by Willow and Tara's spell. No one who saw his bloody, thorn-pricked palm as he let go of the rose would ever forget it. He moved back, and Cordelia gently took his hand and wrapped it in a handkerchief. Wesley stepped to his side as well. Angel wrapped an arm around each of them.

Witness after witness spoke, but in the end, all was silence. As the coffin was lowered and the grave was filled in, a woman's throaty alto began to sing an old spiritual about "my travelin' days are over." Dawn wept in Willow's arms as her sister's casket disappeared into the earth.

Father Byrnes was the last one to approach Buffy's grave, chanting in Latin and sprinkling the grave with holy water. All at once, both Spike and Angel took a step back.

"Good and consecrated, all right," murmured Spike.

"Requiescat in pacem," finished Father Byrnes. "In nomine Patris, et Fili, et Spiritus Sancti."

"Amen."


	5. Catharsis

Catharsis

Catharsis

As the crowd began to disperse, some came forward to offer words of condolence to Dawn or to Buffy's friends. Dawn bore it as long as she could, but finally retreated to Giles' side, leaning on him and curling up on herself. Giles gently placed an arm around her shoulders and guided her away, and the others followed. Willow and Tara hung onto each other, Xander and Anya did the same, and Wesley and Cordelia flanked Angel, Wesley's hand on his shoulder and Cordelia holding his opposite hand. Oz walked between the couples of Willow and Tara and Xander and Anya. Spike brought up the rear, alone.

No one spoke until they reached the Summers home. Spike immediately sat down on the front step to smoke a cigarette and glare at passers-by. Dawn pulled the clip out of her hair.

"Want me to brush your hair out, Dawnie?" asked Willow. The girl nodded and sat in front of a chair while Willow fetched the brush Cordelia had used earlier.

"Oz, you can crash on my couch if you want," offered Xander. He looked over at his fiancee. "If it's okay with you, of course, hon." Anya made no objection, and Oz accepted the offer.

"I suppose we'll stay here again tonight," said Wesley. "Cordy . . . Cordelia?"

The tone of Wesley's voice alerted Angel, who had been heavily involved in staring off into space near the front door. In a second, the vampire was behind Cordelia, holding her shoulders and bracing her body with his own as a vision took her.

"Cordy!" shouted Xander.

"It's a vision. It's all right," Wesley told them.

"What do you see?" Angel asked in her ear.

It took a moment or two for Cordelia to start getting words out. "That dragon thing . . . caves north of Sunnydale . . . going to be doing some serious feeding tonight . . . just waking up." Her eyes snapped open. "It's got a weakness at the base of its throat. You can kill it that way, but you need to get moving now, Angel. Once it's in the air, it's all over."

Angel's eyes went flat. He handed Cordelia off to Wesley and made for the weaponry, grabbing a battle-ax and a broadsword. "Spike!" he barked.

"WHAT?!?"

"Violence." Angel tossed the battle-ax at Spike, who caught it efficiently and with relish.

"Show me where."

With that, the vampires were gone.

"That's a vision?" asked Xander, aghast. "Looks like some serious hurt. You okay, Cordy?"

Wesley had sat Cordelia down on the couch, one arm around her shoulders. The Seer looked shaken, dizzy, and suddenly, she grabbed her head in her hands again and leaned far forward.

"Cordy?" Wesley was truly worried now. "What's happening?"

Cordelia made a sound of pure agony, physical and emotional. It turned into a sob.

"Is this normal?" asked Giles.

"It's not. Cordelia!"

She shook her head. "It's not me," she gasped. She breathed in and out, trying to control her emotions. "It's him. Angel. He's gonna break, Wesley." Cordelia looked at her friend, eyes filled with tears. "He's just about to break."

***

Several hours later, the dragon demon was in more pieces than was strictly necessary.

"That was a quality spot of violence," commented Spike, sitting heavily on a natural rock ledge. His hair was sporting a singe mark, and he was bleeding from more than one place.

Angel was in no better shape, and probably worse. Spike couldn't see his injuries, but he smelled blood that wasn't his own. It interested him. The blond vampire took out a pack of cigarettes and took one for himself, then offered another to Angel. To his even greater interest, Angel sat down beside him and took the cigarette. Spike lit his own, then Angel's.

His sire's face was the most interesting thing Spike had seen thus far. So perfectly controlled, although the viciousness with which Angel had attacked the dragon had surprised even Spike.

The night Angel had come to town, Spike had been looking for punishment. Buffy's dead body, the horror and despair in Dawn's eyes as that Doc creature had thrown Spike from the tower, all that had been on constant replay behind Spike's eyes. His failures, haunting him. And who better to administer punishment than Angel? Angel, who had been there from the start, who had taught Spike what a vampire was and how he should behave—and had disciplined him harshly when the lessons weren't learned quickly enough?

So he'd provoked Angel (while getting in some venting), and Angel had cooperated beautifully, giving Spike a bruise he could still feel. Therefore, Spike felt he owed Angel a favor. Quid pro quo.

"Aren't enough demons in the world, you know."

Angel took a drag on his cigarette. "What are you talking about, William?"

"What I'm talking about is your method of dealing with the love of your unlife's death." Spike gestured at the dragon's remains. "You could kill one of these every night for the next century, but it won't make you feel any better. You're just putting things off, you know. Sooner or later, it'll all come rushing in, and I personally would prefer to be out of the country when that happens."

"You don't know me."

Spike looked at him and made a disgusted noise. "You're right. I always knew you were good at the torture, but I never realized until now that it's because you practice on yourself. I wanted you to punish me, I admit that. What you won't admit is that you're doing an even better job of punishing yourself. The guilt of not being there is eating you alive, and I'd almost swear you're enjoying the sensation."

A stream of smoke hissed between Angel's teeth. "Watch your tongue, boy."

"You've got friends, you know. Hell of a lot more than I've got going for me. Is part of your self-inflicted penance going to be losing them, too?" Angel didn't answer. Spike decided to switch tactics. "You know, if you're going to be like this, you should at least get in some good, quality shagging while you're still miserable enough to enjoy it. Is Miss Cordelia available?"

Angel pinned him with a deadly glare. "If you want to keep your head where it is, William, I'd suggest you never say anything like that again."

Spike gave a laugh. "Well. It's alive. Listen, you toffing idiot, I never wanted to have sympathy for you. Hell, a year ago, I'd have barfed my guts out at the thought. But I do all the same. Sympathy only goes so far, though, so listen up, because this is the last time I'll give you this advice: get this thing out of you. Get it out before it kills you—and maybe a lot of people around you, too."

The blond vampire flicked his cigarette away, stood painfully to his feet, and walked out of the cave.

***

Wesley watched as Cordelia laid out first aid supplies. After her vision, she'd changed into sweatpants, a tank top, and a light jacket, efficiently put together a medical kit, and demanded Wesley drive her over to the mansion. They were at the mansion now, in what had been Angel's bedroom for over a year. The bed was still intact, though the mattress was a little moldy and the covers had long since been scavenged. The building itself had been condemned and showed signs of having had squatters in it from time to time.

This was where Cordelia was certain Angel would end up. Wesley didn't question that certainty; her ability to interpret her visions had grown by leaps and bounds lately.

What he did question was her insistence that she do this alone.

"I should stay," he said. "Angel may need both of us."

Cordelia shook her head resolutely. "No. If we crowd him, stage an intervention or something, he'll run. He can't afford that right now. Besides, technically, you're his boss. You can't order him to open up."

"Since when has my being his boss had any bearing on what Angel does?"

"It's still important to him. Vampires are hierarchical, you know." She caught Wesley's look of surprise. "What? You think I never did any reading on the subject?"

Wesley shook off his surprise. "I understand what you're saying, Cordy, but . . . Angel may not be entirely stable right now. I don't want . . ."

"He won't hurt me." Cordelia's voice was confident. "I'm not afraid of Angel, Wesley. I'm a little afraid _for_ him right now, I'm concerned about where he's going, but I'm not afraid he'll hurt me. Besides, I do have the tranq gun, just in case he gets out of hand."

"Well—if you're certain." Wesley looked unhappy. "I just feel so useless."

"Wesley." Cordelia walked over to him and wrapped her arms around his neck. "You've been supporting everyone since we got here. You may be Backup Man, but that's incredibly important. I appreciate it, everyone does. This is just . . . something Angel and I have to do together."

"I know," said Wesley, hugging her back. "I just wish there was something more concrete I could do for him right now."

Cordelia let him go. "He's going to need both of us a lot for the next few months. I just get first shift."

"Understood." Wesley smiled at her. "You've got your cell phone; promise to call if you need," his mouth twisted wryly, "Backup Man."

"I promise." Cordelia rolled her eyes just a little. "Don't worry. The Powers That Be seemed fairly certain I'd be able to handle this."

"All right. Just . . . do be careful." Wesley turned, a little reluctant still, and left.

***

Angel wandered the streets of Sunnydale. His mind was almost completely absent, and he had no idea what he was looking for. Or trying to escape from. Only the first few pale streaks of dawn in the east penetrated his consciousness, and his feet took him on autopilot to safety: the mansion.

Once inside, he immediately realized he wasn't alone. The soft sound of movement and Cordelia's scent greeted him. He discovered her in the bedroom.

"There you are," she said briskly. "Let's see how badly you're hurt."

He took a look around at the medical supplies she'd brought. "I'm fine."

"Then let's see how badly you're not hurt. Take off your shirt and sit on the bed. And boy, could that sentence be misinterpreted."

Angel felt himself automatically shedding his coat, then stopped before he could take off his shirt. He didn't even want her here; why was he giving in to her demands?

"I don't need all this, Cordelia. I told you, I'm fine. I want to be alone. Go back to the Summers house."

She looked him up and down. "The blood dripping from your shredded shirt says you're not fine. You need patching up."

Angel's temper frayed. "I don't need patching up, Cordelia. What part of 'I'm a vampire' don't you understand?"

"Look, you," snapped Cordelia, matching him temper for temper, "I just spent all day bullying poor little Dawn. If you think I'm going to go any easier on you, think again." With that, she shoved him backward. The unexpected movement sent him stumbling onto the bed. "Now, get that shirt off. I've got a tranq gun; don't make me use it."

Angel glared at her stonily, but pulled his shirt off. It took some effort and hurt quite a bit, not that he was caring about such things. Cordelia hissed as she got a good look at his torso.

"Glad to see you're fine," she muttered, grabbing some gauze and a basin of water. "If you weren't fine, you might have holes all over your chest and shoulder. Oh, wait, you do."

"It bit me while I was stabbing it in the throat."

"That sort of thing tends to irritate dragons. Grab that thermos, would you?"

He did. It turned out to be full of blood.

"Dinner for you. I even heated it up. Drink up." When he balked, she stared him down. "You're whiter than usual, freezing, and you've lost a lot of blood. If you don't drink, you won't heal. I know these things."

He gave in. While he drank the blood, she set about cleaning the wounds. In addition to the bite, he had some deep scratches on his belly and back, but they'd almost stopped bleeding. When she got to the deepest tooth mark on his back, she stopped. "You're lucky that thing didn't have wooden teeth. Are you aware it got you right through the heart?"

"I don't use it anyway," Angel murmured.

"Could've fooled me." Cordelia set aside the basin and picked up the bandages and tape. "Funny thing. That vision I had? Double header. You got the part about the dragon. Personally, I think it was just the Powers That Be getting you out of the way so they could give me some instructions and let me in on your mental state. I got a headful of your emotions. Now, having lived inside my head during some fairly terrible things, I think I'm pretty much qualified to diagnose your current status as 'bad.'"

Angel took a breath, unmindful of the fact that it hurt. "I'm okay, Cordy."

"Okay. Right, uh-huh, yeah, whatever. You're okay with a hole in your heart."

"It'll heal."

"I'm not talking about the one I just taped up." She smoothed a final piece of tape into place and sighed. "Angel, you've got to face this thing. It's eating you alive."

Angel stood, pushing her away. "I'll deal with it in my own time, Cordy. Just let me be."

"Buffy Summers just died, Angel," Cordelia pressed on. "She died. The love of your life. And you're trying to tell me that this—this extreme non-dealing you're doing is anything like healthy? All you've done is stare off into space and kill a lot of demons. Have you shed even one tear?"

He glared at her. "What does that prove? You cried, and you didn't even like Buffy."

Cordelia stood slowly. "You're right. I didn't like her. Our personalities just never meshed. But I respected her. She went out and fought evil day after day, night after night, got hurt, rarely got thanked for it, and even though she sometimes bitched and complained, she still went on. I respected her for that, Angel, and that means a whole lot more to me than liking her. But you know what? We're not talking about me. We're talking about you and whatever mental place you've gone to. You can't stay there forever, and the longer you do, the worse things are going to be." Her voice hardened as he turned away. "Talk to me, Angel. Yell. Scream. Do something."

He whirled suddenly, violently, in vamp face, and grabbed her hard by her upper arms. "Is this what you want, Cordelia? Because this is what it looks like inside."

"I'm not afraid of you," she stated calmly, looking into his yellow eyes. "I. Am not. Afraid. Of you."

"Well, I am!" he shouted. The vamp face melted away. "I am afraid of what's inside, Cordy. I can't . . . I don't know how . . ." He trailed off brokenly, hands flexing on her arms. "Cordy . . . she's gone."

"I know." Cordelia's eyes were soft. She reached up, taking his face in her hands. "I know, Angel."

Something inside Angel was tumbling and falling. He shook his head, trying to cling to anger, denial, anything. He couldn't. "I can't do this."

"Angel . . ."

"I can't . . . I can't feel her, Cordy. I can't feel her in my soul."

"Shh. Easy." Cordelia moved closer.

". . . can't do this, Cordy, she's gone, she's really gone . . ."

"Shh." Cordelia pulled his head down to her shoulder. "I'm here."

The innocent trust in that gesture—bringing an agitated vampire so close to her neck—undid Angel completely. His knees buckled. Cordelia supported him as he clung to her. She sank down, sitting on the edge of the bed, cradling his head in her lap as wave after wave of grief washed over him.

***

Angel felt as if he was coming out of a trance. He wondered if he'd passed out briefly and decided it took too much energy to wonder. He was slumped on the floor beside the bed with his head still in Cordelia's lap. He felt her fingers gently stroking the hair at the base of his skull.

He breathed a few times. The pain in his chest was less, but he felt raw inside. Open. Bare to the world. As he breathed, he inhaled Cordelia's scent: warm, female, familiar, very comforting.

He wasn't alone.

Slowly, with great effort, he lifted his head from her lap, then concentrated his energy on forcing his body onto the bed beside her. One of her hands came up, wiping away his tears.

"You're going to be all right, Angel. You are."

He opened his eyes and looked into hers. She'd been crying, too. "I am," he whispered, and he realized he believed it. A surge of warm emotion welled up inside him for her. He leaned forward, kissing her forehead, and then, very gently, her mouth. She kissed him back, a sweet, chaste gesture of closest friendship.

"I love you, Cordy. I want you to know." He drew her close, into his embrace.

She embraced him back. "I know, Angel. I love you, too. In a friends, co-workers kind of way."

For some reason, that made both of them giggle in exhausted hysteria. "You need to sleep, Broody Boy," she told him.

He drew back, nodding. "Stay with me."

"Of course."

Angel dragged himself across the bed, guiding Cordelia to come with him. He settled back and pulled her against him so they were in a spoons position, her back to his chest. Her warmth flooded his body as she laid in his arms.

Something very important needed to be said. Just as he was falling off to sleep, he remembered what it was.

"Thank you," he murmured.

He was asleep in seconds, but Cordelia stayed awake a little longer, in spite of her own emotional exhaustion. Spooning with Angel hadn't exactly been on her agenda when she'd come to confront—and comfort—him, but now that she was in his arms, she wasn't sorry it had happened. It made her all the more glad that she and Angel had never fallen in love.

There had been a time when the fact that they could never be more than friends had bothered her. Both right after Doyle's death and during the summer he'd practically lived with her, she'd struggled with semi-romantic feelings for him.

It wasn't just that Angel was gorgeous, she knew. Yes, he was stunning. When he walked into a room, all the straight women and gay men couldn't take their eyes off him. Hell, some of the gay women and straight men took second and third looks. Cordelia herself had been instantly attracted to his looks. Sexual feelings were bound to occur, but that wasn't what might have caused her to fall for him.

It was the fact that he looked into her eyes, not at her breasts. He made her feel valued for herself, not for her looks. She knew he noticed, but that wasn't what mattered to him. That wasn't what made him so irritatingly and endearingly protective. Angel was the first man in her life to whom her looks didn't matter. Even Doyle, dear Doyle, had been known to gawk and refer to her as "a stiffener."

But romance was strictly out for her and Angel. She knew it, he knew it. Her visions bound them together, and his curse made falling in love inadvisable, to say the least. Had they romantic feelings, this moment would be impossible. Physical contact and comfort, him holding her during and after her visions, her reaching out to him as she had tonight, would be something they wouldn't be able to do if they ever fell in love.

So she was glad. Because this moment, to her, was even better than being in love.


	6. Liebestraum

Liebestraum

Liebestraum

Warmth surrounded Angel. He sighed in contentment as he opened his eyes to a room flooded with sunlight. It was so warm, so beautiful. How had he gone so long without the sun?

Cordelia still laid in his arms, sleeping. But there was another presence, he realized, just at his back. He looked over his shoulder.

Buffy grinned at him, her face impish at his surprise. "Do you have any idea what most men would pay to be in your position right now?" she asked.

He looked at Cordelia's sleeping form, then back to Buffy. "This isn't what it looks like."

"Looks to me like a man being comforted by a very good friend."

"Okay. Maybe it is what it looks like."

Buffy grinned again. "I'm good at these things." She rolled off the bed and stood. "Come on. I've got something to show you."

"But I'll be cold," he protested.

"Not for long. Trust me."

Angel laid Cordelia down. She didn't stir. As he stood up off the bed, he felt cold rushing in. Hastily, he followed Buffy. She led him through a few hallways, always disappearing around corners just before he could catch up to her. Finally, he found her standing in front of a sunny window. She was holding out a hand, cupped, in front of her.

"What is it?" he asked.

"Spring flowers. If you don't plant them now, they'll never grow." With that, Buffy blew across her palm. The seeds in it scattered out the window. Buffy looked satisfied. "See?"

Angel approached the window and stood beside Buffy. Outside, the day was bright and sunny over a field of wildflowers. He could feel the sun on his skin and smell the scents of the flowers as a warm spring breeze wafted in.

Across the field, he could see two figures making their way through the flowers. Cordelia, in a yellow sundress, and Dawn, in a matching rose pink one, were ambling slowly and aimlessly through the field. They were swinging a basket between them and occasionally plucking flowers to put in it.

"They're getting along just fine," murmured Buffy.

"And you worried so," said Angel.

They could see more people in the field of flowers now. Giles and Wesley were in the north corner, fencing spiritedly. Anya and Xander were in the foreground, she in a medieval gown with a wreath of flowers in her hair, he dressed as a knight. Willow and Tara floated on their backs just over the tallest flowers, picking out shapes in the clouds. Occasionally, Willow would start to float too high, and Tara would have to pull her back down again.

"That worries a little," said Buffy.

"I'd imagine so."

Spike tossed a Frisbee from the east corner. Suddenly, Gunn exploded out of the center of the field, catching the Frisbee and winging it back at the vampire.

"Those two," chuckled Angel. "So alike."

Buffy nodded. "They'll be fine. Not all at once, but they'll all be fine." She turned toward Angel. "And you?"

Angel felt a little knot of fear in his stomach. What had seemed clear earlier, with Cordelia, suddenly wasn't. "I'm not sure."

"I am," said Buffy. She set her hand on his chest. "There's a light there, you know."

"But you're my Beatrice," he whispered.

"Well, she was dead too, wasn't she?" Buffy smiled. "You don't need me anymore. You haven't, not for a long time. You're not alone."

He drew her in. "You were my dream," he said simply.

"And I'll always be with you."

They kissed in the sunlight, long and tender and passionate. She felt so familiar, so real, so right. But even in dreams, kisses can't last forever.

She pulled back. "I have to go."

"Buffy . . ." He started crying again.

"Shh," she soothed. "Full of grace, my love."

"I love you," he whispered. "I will always love you."

"Always." She stroked his face gently. "Close your eyes."

He did so. He felt her kiss him again, very softly.

Then cold air rushed through him, and she was gone. He opened his eyes to discover the room dark, the field outside empty ground. But there was something . . . he took a closer look to see what glittered all over the bare earth.

It was billions of seeds, waiting for spring.


	7. Reflection

Realization

Reflection

Warm. Angel was warm. It was the first sensation he was aware of as he came near to waking. The second sensation was scent.

Angel believed it an instinct among vampires to draw in a breath as soon as consciousness returned. Their heightened sense of smell would immediately tell them at least something about their surroundings. For him, it wasn't ever a conscious decision; his body simply did it. So he breathed in, and he was glad he did. The scent kept him from thinking, even for one wishful moment, that it was Buffy he held.

Cordelia's scent flooded him: the sharpness of hair care products; a whiff of expensive perfume; the salt tang of tears and sweat; the spicy musk of womanhood; and underlying all, the indescribable aroma of her blood. He would have known the scent anywhere.

His arms tightened around her, drawing her warmth closer, feeling her life. His body had warmed almost to her body temperature, a rare luxury. Rarer still was the feeling of skin against skin. He was shirtless, and she wore only a tank top on her upper body. He savored the warmth and smoothness of her. Even rarer than that was the sensation of a heart beating against him. Cordelia's heartbeat seemed to echo through his body, making him feel almost alive, as he had on that lost day . . .

Emotions welled up, threatened to overwhelm him. He allowed them to crest and subside briefly, knowing they would return and perhaps drag him back into deepest grief. Somehow, though, it was all right. He'd been laid bare last night, and he knew he could survive it. He could survive it because he wasn't alone.

For months, he had been. He'd isolated himself emotionally before pushing his friends away physically. The cold had rushed in, and it had stayed. He had been so cold for so long, and nothing could make that better. Not Darla, certainly. Her flesh had been as cold as his.

His epiphany had ended his physical isolation. He'd gone back to his friends, only to find a layer of self-protection between them and him. They had resigned themselves to his absence, learned to live without him, but the open wounds he'd inflicted upon them hadn't healed. The responsibilities he'd heaped upon them by his absence had forced them to harden themselves. But even their distance wasn't as cold as the place he'd been for so long.

Then he'd gotten the news from a reluctant Xander that Joyce Summers had died, and Buffy needed him. He had come to Sunnydale, found Buffy at her mother's graveside. She had taken his hand, and he'd led her to the foot of the tree where she had burrowed into his chest and rested there, laying her fears and needs on him and trusting his strength to be enough to carry them. Her warmth had seeped into him during those hours they'd talked and held each other, and how loath he had been to leave her.

But it had been necessary, for there was other healing to be done. Slowly, he rebuilt the relationships he'd destroyed in his carelessness, and he had once again been warmed by friendship and love.

Then he'd seen Willow, and his soul had frozen over again. He hadn't wanted it to thaw, for the pain had seemed overwhelming. His friends hadn't allowed that, though. Wesley and Cordelia had pursued him relentlessly until the ice had fallen away from his heart. Great as the pain was, the comfort was still greater.

So he held Cordelia and breathed her in, burying his face in her hair, and his soul warmed further.

And then he realized they weren't alone.

***

Xander and Willow walked beside each other in the deepening afternoon shadows, talking.

"You ever think about how things would've been if this wasn't the Hellmouth?" Xander asked. "Better yet, if there were no vampires, no demons at all—just your normal, everyday crappiness?"

"Sure, I've thought about it," Willow said. "I mean, I used to think all the time about how we'd all have gone to school together, you and me and Buffy, and we'd have just been friends without the apocalypses, and maybe, once we graduated, we'd have taken the summer off and gone backpacking around Europe asking, 'Wo ist die Jugendherberge?'" Her brow crinkled. "Or is it 'der'?"

"Do I know German?"

"You took it."

"Must be one of those high school things I repressed once I got out. What's a yoogenburger?"

"Youth hostel. We'd still have been friends, you know. Without the Hellmouthy stuff."

"Yeah, you bet we would." Xander placed an affectionate arm around Willow's shoulders. "You, Buffy, and I would have been the Three Musketeers: the Brain, the Babe, and the Butt-Monkey."

Willow elbowed him in the side. "Cut that out. You were never a Butt-Monkey."

"I so was. Not like my current studly status, of course."

"I always thought you were studly."

They walked on awhile in silence. Then Xander spoke up again.

"Had a thought: didn't Buffy get sent here by the Powers That Be or whatever because of the Hellmouth? I mean, she was at Hemery High in L.A. before—until she burned down the gym, of course. If she hadn't been the Slayer, she'd probably have stayed there."

"That's true." Willow looked troubled. "But say it could've happened anyway. I mean, say she'd have ended up in Sunnydale, maybe after her parents split. We'd still have gotten to know her and Dawnie."

"But would Dawn have been here?" Xander's voice was quiet. "She was technically never born, so . . ."

"We'll throw Dawn in, too. It's fantasy land, after all."

"Okay. Hey, another thought: no Angel. He was born in what, the 1700s?" Xander nodded. "We can leave him out. Spike, too. There's something good."

That earned another elbowing. "That means no Anya, either. She'd have been long gone by the year 1000."

Xander gave her a baleful look. "Point taken. Angel and Anya are in, but we'll leave Spike in England. Of course, I probably never would have dated Cordelia in our alternate universe. That could be taken as a plus."

"I don't know." Willow looked pensive. "She's changed so much, and I can't help it—I've really liked having her around. I mean, part of her is the old Queen C, but there's something new, you know, in her eyes. She's so good with Dawn, and you can just see how much she and Wesley and Angel all care about each other."

"Yeah, I've noticed it, too," Xander admitted. "Cordy's got a good heart. I think I could always see it a little, but you can really see it now. Maybe it's the visions. Getting hit in the head with other peoples' pain has got to have an effect."

Willow shook her head. "The irony. The most insensitive girl in Sunnydale history gets stuck with empathic visions." She thought about it. "She wouldn't have those if all this didn't exist, though. All the demons and vampires and stuff. It all kind of goes together. I guess—I guess I probably wouldn't be a witch, either. No magic."

Xander nodded. "You're right. No magic. You might never have met Tara. Of course, without the werewolf thing, you might never have split up with Oz, either."

"Guess we'll never know."

"Thought of something else: if you hadn't wanted to help Buffy fight the Hellmouth, would you have stayed here and gone to UC Sunnydale, or would you have gone off to Oxford or something? Become a mini-Giles?"

"I don't know." Willow looked at Xander wide-eyed. "Giles! We might never have gotten to know Giles. I mean, even if he'd been here without the Watcher thing, he'd have just been the librarian, and while I'd probably have gotten to know him, you and Buffy were never exactly into the books, you know?"

Xander stopped short. "I hadn't thought about that."

Willow hugged herself, looking at Xander. "Weird, isn't it? Thinking that maybe . . . maybe you can't have the good without the bad."

Xander put his arm back around her shoulders, and they continued walking. "There's been so much over the past five years—a lot of stuff I hate to even remember. But if I'd have to throw the good out with the bad . . . Will, I just couldn't."

"I couldn't, either. We've all changed so much. We've grown. I don't know if I'd want to change that, even to get rid of the pain."

Xander squeezed her gently. "I know exactly what you mean."

They continued walking. "Oh!" cried Willow suddenly. "We should drop by the mansion."

"Why?"

"Well, Tara and Giles and Wesley and I were talking, and the Fang Gangers are planning to leave tonight, and we thought it might be nice to eat dinner with them before they left, so since Angel and Cordy are probably still at the mansion, I was thinking maybe we could stop by and invite them."

Xander looked worried. "I dunno—last night, Cordy said he was going to 'break.' Not sure if he'll want us anywhere around. Did Cordy ever come back to the house?"

"No, she didn't. I kind of feel like I want to check up on them." Willow looked up at her best friend. "I know you and Angel aren't exactly the best of buds, but he loved Buffy. She'd want us to make sure he's okay."

"I can do that."

They steered themselves toward the mansion. It wasn't far, and when they got to the entrance, Willow turned to Xander.

"We should probably be quiet about this. Angel was pretty exhausted after the funeral, and Wesley told me it's best to let sleeping vampires lie."

"That will get no arguments from me."

As quietly as they could, they entered the mansion. Hearing no noise of movement, they decided to check the upstairs living quarters. At any moment, they expected to run into Angel or Cordelia. They didn't. Finally, they found the thick curtain that partially covered the bedroom doorway and pushed it aside.

And saw the last thing they'd ever have expected to see.

Cordelia and Angel were soundly asleep on the bed, she wrapped tightly in his arms. Willow and Xander both had a jaw-dropping moment. Neither could move.

Then Angel moved, tightening his arms around Cordelia and breathing in. For a moment, they could see complex emotions shift all over his sleeping face. He pressed his nose into her hair and breathed in again. Neither Xander nor Willow moved for fear of waking him fully.

Too late. His eyes snapped open and unerringly found them. He looked at them. He looked at Cordelia. He looked at his own shirtless state. He looked chagrined.

"Hi . . . um, hi." His voice was rough with sleep and the aftermath of emotion.

"Hi," the friends said together.

He looked back at the young woman in his arms. "Can I . . . do something for you two?"

Willow spiraled into babble-mode. "Well, Xander and I were thinking, I mean, if you two wanted to, we could all have dinner at the Summers house tonight, because Wesley said something about you guys are probably going to leave tonight, so Xander and I thought we'd invite you guys over if you want dinner, but you don't have to come if you don't want to, I mean, if you've got other things you need to do . . ."

Cordelia shifted and murmured. Angel rubbed his hand along one of her shoulders. "Cordy?"

"Angel, are Xander and Willow here?" Cordelia mumbled, not opening her eyes.

"They are."

"Crap."

"Hi, Cordy," offered Willow.

"Crap."

Xander cleared his throat.

"Crap."

Angel actually chuckled. "It's okay, Cordy."

"Crap." Resolutely, Cordelia opened her eyes and smiled a bit too brightly. "Hi, guys. This is not at all what it looks like." Angel was having to bite his lip to keep from laughing. "And you, fang-face, you breathe one word of this to Gunn or Wesley, and I'll make the coffee with holy water."

"I think it's time we got up," said Angel.

Cordelia disengaged herself from Angel, swung her legs over the side of the bed, and stretched hugely. Angel situated himself on the side of the bed beside her and began to rise.

"No. Stay there," ordered Cordelia. "I want to check those bandages." She stood and began to peel back the bandages all over his chest and shoulder.

Willow stepped forward. "Angel, how are you doing?"

Angel's eyes met hers. They were no longer empty. There was a lot of pain there, but there was also peace. "I'm nowhere near perfect, but . . ." He looked at Cordelia. "I'm going to be okay."

Cordelia smiled at him gently, lovingly, her heart in her eyes again. She removed some of the bandages to reveal freshly-healed flesh.

"These sore at all?" she asked.

"A bit sensitive, but they don't hurt," he told her. "The deep one in back, though—that hurts."

Cordelia checked it. "Ick. Still oozing. I'm going to change the dressing, okay?"

Xander and Willow watched as Cordelia did just that. There was an easy sort of intimacy about the vampire and the Seer, born out of deep friendship. It was something remarkable to see, for neither of them had seen either Angel or Cordelia having this sort of relationship before.

When that task was finished, Angel looked down at his chest again. "I don't suppose I could get you to bring me my duffel bag from my car?"

"Way ahead of you." Cordelia produced a shirt from the pack she'd made up the previous night and tossed it to Angel. He grinned affectionately and pulled it over his head, standing to his feet as he did so. Cordelia ran her fingers through her hair, looking slightly disgusted. "I need a shower in a major way."

"You two said something about dinner?" Angel inquired of Willow and Xander.

"Yeah, at the Summers house," Willow confirmed. "I know you don't eat, Angel, but we were hoping you'd join us."

He nodded. "What time is it? Has the sun set?"

"You've still got about fifteen minutes," said Xander, who'd finally pulled himself out of his shock.

Angel turned to Cordelia. "Why don't you go with them and get that shower in? I'll follow as soon as the sun is down."

"You sure?" Her voice communicated far more than words.

There was a long moment in which no one spoke, but Angel and Cordelia seemed to communicate silently. He laid a hand on her cheek, his expression both serious and tender.

"Okay," she finally said, covering his hand with hers. He kissed her forehead. "How do I look?"

"Fine," Angel said absently.

Cordelia made a noise of impatience as she pulled on her jacket. She turned to Willow. "How do I look?"

"Your hair's a little flippy-uppy in the back, but you're good for a ten-minute walk."

"That's an answer." Cordelia turned back to Angel. "I'll see you back at the Summers place, okay? Warning: Wesley will want to talk to you."

"It's okay." And Angel looked like it would be. They turned to leave. "Cor?" Angel called.

Cordelia turned around. "Yeah?"

"Thank you."

***

Cordelia, Xander, and Willow walked toward the Summers house silently. Cordelia offered no explanation as to why she and Angel had been snuggled in bed together, and neither Willow nor Xander had the nerve to ask her. Willow finally broke the silence.

"How did things go? I mean, after your vision?" she asked. "How is he, really?"

"He'll be okay," Cordelia answered. "It was rough, though. We're talking power-freak there for awhile. I don't think he's anywhere near being really okay yet, but I'm pretty sure he got the worst of it out. He'll be all right." She shrugged. "It's just going to take time."

"Sounds . . . scary," put in Xander, not sure he was liking this.

"Oh, it was scary—for him." At Willow and Xander's looks, Cordelia explained, "Being out of control is Angel's worst fear. Having to face something like this put him within spitting distance of losing it, and that scared him bad."

"You know him so well," said Willow wonderingly.

Cordelia smiled. "That's what happens with good friends."

Xander was still fairly certain he wasn't liking something about all this. However, asking Cordelia was totally out of the question, given his past with her. Besides, he liked the softness shining through her eyes. When they'd been dating, he'd caught glimpses of it once in a while, and it always made him think she was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. He didn't want her to get defensive around him now.

That only left one option.

"Just remembered something," he said, as if an idea had just struck him. "I've gotta run back to my place—I got ice cream and meant to bring it along. You two go on, I won't be long."

With that, he turned and hurried back the way they'd come. Once Cordelia and Willow were out of sight, he ducked into the nearest Kwickie Mart and bought two quarts of Dreyer's, then hurried back to the street. He knew that if Angel was heading back to the Summers house from the mansion, this would be the quickest way, and the sun was setting.

Sure enough, a few minutes after sunset, Angel's tall, dark figure came gliding down the street. Watching him, Xander had a brief moment of coat envy, but shook it off.

"Angel!" he called. The vampire looked a bit startled, but altered his course to intercept Xander. "Hey. I had to grab some ice cream for dessert, and Giles doesn't like us out after sundown by ourselves. Mind some company for the walk back?" It sounded lame even to Xander's ears, but it was a handy excuse.

Angel cocked his head. "Sure."

They started walking together. Xander felt like he was having to hurry to keep up with Angel's longer stride and preternatural swiftness. Meanwhile, his brain was racing for any way at all to bring up a subject he had no right to be inquiring about.

What the hell was I thinking? Xander wondered. What, I thought it'd be easy to up and ask Angel, "Hey, just incidentally, are you and Cordy boinking?"

"Cordelia and I aren't lovers," Angel said.

Xander literally tripped over his own two feet. Angel's hand caught his elbow and kept him from falling. "Uh . . ."

"That is what you wanted to know, isn't it?" The vampire smiled faintly, but it didn't reach his eyes. "We're not lovers. We never have been. We never will be. She knows it, I know it, end of story. And what happened last night and this morning is strictly none of your business."

Angel's face had closed again, very unlike how it had been with Cordelia earlier. Xander sensed he'd gotten himself into a foot-meet-mouth situation. He felt he needed to explain his motives, which frankly weren't all that clear to himself.

He held his hands out. "Look, Angel, it's not like I'm having idle curiosity here."

"Then why are you asking, Xander?" Angel asked. "Do you really think I'd take that sort of risk with Cordy for my own pleasure?"

"I don't know you at all." The words were out of Xander's mouth before he even thought about them, but they were the absolute truth. "I admit that. I don't know you. Never really tried to. But I know Cordy, or at least I did, and while she and I haven't been together in that way for a long time, I still think of her as—as one of my girls. Not like Anya, but like Willow or Tara or Dawn . . . or even Buffy." He dropped his hands. "I hurt her bad once. I just don't like the thought of her getting hurt again."

For a long time, it seemed, Angel just examined him with those unfathomable dark eyes. Then something in them gave way, and his face opened up again. "The White Knight," Angel murmured. "I guess I was right about you. Chivalry's not dead."

Oddly enough, there was no sarcasm or derision in Angel's tone.

"You and I agree on something," the vampire went on, starting to walk again—a bit slower, to Xander's relief. "I've hurt Cordy, too, through my actions and words, and I don't want her to ever be hurt again. Not by me, not by anyone. I hate seeing her in pain. Sometimes I think it'd be better if I walked away from her, but I can't. The visions bind us together. So does our friendship. Even if it wasn't for my curse, I know it's better that we never become lovers. Not that I've never thought about it—how could I not?"

"She's something pretty special, all right," Xander agreed.

Angel gave a short laugh. "Cordy gets under your skin. She'll take over your life if you let her, and even if you don't. With her, you never quite know if you're coming or going, and I think she likes it that way. She'll turn your world upside-down, given half a chance, and just when you get to complaining, she'll give you a smile and you'll suddenly decide to just sit back and enjoy the ride. She's the irresistible force that never met an immovable object. It's summer when she smiles, and when she's angry, you'd better run for cover. That about cover Cordy?"

Had Angel just said all that? "I-I think so. Just about."

"I love Cordy," Angel said, very quietly. "In a way I've never loved anyone, I love her. Wesley and Gunn love her, too. We do our very best to protect her, but because of who she is—and even besides the visions—she can't be locked away from danger completely. Speaking of which, there are vampires waiting to ambush us up ahead and to the right, in that copse of trees. Got a stake?"

Xander shifted the ice cream bag to his left hand. Angel suddenly crossed over so he was to Xander's right, and Xander realized Angel's coat would obscure his right hand from the vampires' sight. Casually, Xander reached back and pulled out the stake he kept tucked into the back of his jeans.

"Act natural," Angel advised, sotto voce. "An ambush is only effective if the quarry is unaware."

"And if the quarry is aware, it has the advantage." Angel flicked Xander a surprised glance. "Hey, I read military history. Good stuff."

"Fiction or non?"

"Both. I'm reading Gates of Fire by Pressfield right now. Great book."

"Battle of Thermopylae, right?"

"Yep. The Spartans and the Persians. The Spartans were fairly kick-ass."

They conversed in normal tones, just two guys out for a stroll. As they passed the copse of trees, three vampires sprang out, expecting to quickly overpower their prey. Angel thrust out his arm; the first vamp was dust before it even realized it had run into Angel's retractable stake. Xander rapidly twisted his body and swung his plastic grocery bag; two quarts of ice cream struck the second vampire in the head, stunning it long enough for Xander to plunge his stake through its heart. The third vampire threw a roundhouse punch that connected with Angel's chin, but Angel used the momentum to spin around and sweep it off its feet, 

drop to one knee, and stake it, all in one smooth motion.

Xander looked at his dented ice cream, then at Angel. "This town sucks." Those words uncorked something within him, and he went for the rant. "I hate this place. A whole town built as a feeding ground for demons. Could there be a suckier thing? Why do we even stick around? If I had my way, we'd evacuate the whole place and napalm it. Just burn it. Burn it to the ground."

"And salt the earth." Angel's soft voice provided agreement and sympathy.

The carpenter nodded. "Yeah. Salt the earth." He took a breath, coming back down. "I swear, sometimes I lay awake at night and dream of taking Anya and getting the hell out of here. Going anywhere else. There's gotta be some place without demons or vampires. Why don't I just leave?"

He didn't really expect an answer, but Angel gave him one. "Because you're not the sort of man who can walk away."

Xander met Angel's eyes fully, for the first time not flinching back from them. There was respect there, and Xander's inner fifteen-year-old (which he would never have admitted existed, even under torture) was doing the Snoopy dance because of it.

"Guess that makes me fairly stupid," Xander said ruefully after a moment.

Angel smiled a little and shook his head. "No. It makes you the sort of man Buffy could call her best friend."

They walked the rest of the way to the Summers house in companionable silence. Except Xander's inner fifteen-year-old, who was throwing a party because Angel had called him a man.


	8. Oasis

Oasis

Oasis

The Summers house was a whirlwind of activity as Xander and Angel entered. Willow appeared to be in charge, and the moment the young man and the vampire entered, she pounced on them.

"There's a lasagna in the oven, and we have garlic bread that needs buttered and veggies that need chopped. Who wants to do what?"

Angel shed his coat. "If it's all the same to you, Xander, I'd just as soon stay away from the garlic."

"Fine by me," Xander shrugged.

Willow gestured toward the kitchen. "Get choppin'." Angel gave her a bit of a smile and obeyed. Before Xander could follow, Willow stopped him, giving him the Look. He instantly knew what it meant.

"I had to know, okay? It was either ask him or ask Cordy, and he scares me less."

Willow looked him up and down. "By your being here, I guess you survived the conversation. Xander—can you really picture Angel and Cordy?"

"Nope," he said, "and I'm pleased to say I don't have to."

His best friend shoved him toward the kitchen. "Get to buttering. We may need your help with the salad later, too."

Xander flexed. "I shall use my manly muscles to tear open the bag and laboriously pour it into a bowl."

"And put that ice cream in the freezer," Willow called after him.

The kitchen was full to bursting. Tara was checking on the lasagna, Angel was chopping vegetables (and being painfully artistic about it), Xander was slicing French bread while Willow mixed the garlic butter, Anya was ducking in and out as she set the table, Oz was fiddling with the stereo in the dining room, and Giles (who had actually prepared the lasagna) and Wesley were also periodically checking in to perform odd jobs and find candles, candleholders, napkins, the tablecloth, and wine.

"This kitchen has too many butts in it," complained Anya on one of her forays. Angel had to catch a plate before it hit the floor.

"I'll help," volunteered Cordelia, as she'd just come down after taking her shower. "What do you need?"

"Glasses!" shouted Anya over the din.

Giles suddenly noticed a little figure on the periphery. Dawn was looking in, her expressive face roiling with anger and pain. In another moment, she was gone. He had an idea of where.

He found her sitting on the back step, Buffy's shawl drawn tightly around her. Her whole body was tense as he sat down beside her.

"Why are they all acting like that?" Dawn demanded. "Buffy's dead. We just put her in the ground, and all of a sudden, they're all acting like everything's fine. What, did they just forget her?"

Giles looked at her compassionately, seeing the tears glittering in her eyes. "No, Dawn," he said. "We haven't forgotten."

"Then how can you all be acting like you have?" Dawn's voice broke. "I can't even smile, and all of them are laughing like nothing's wrong. Even Angel was smiling."

"And according to Cordelia, he had a 'power-freak' last night, if I remember her term correctly." The Watcher sighed, taking off his glasses. "Dawn, we all still feel Buffy's death. Look closely enough into the eyes of anyone here and you'll see the grief. It's just that . . . tonight, we're choosing to find some respite from it. It's an oasis of sorts. We're taking comfort in one another's presence and practicing being happy, if only for a night. It's safe, you see. No one here will wonder at an attack of tears among the laughter." He looked at the small figure beside him. "Is this making any sort of sense to you?"

Dawn was quiet for a long time. Then she nodded very seriously. "I guess it does." She looked up at him. "I'm not sure I can act normal, though."

Giles smiled at her, proud of her strength and awed by her fragility. "We shan't ask you to. Will you join us?" He held out a hand.

She took it, and he led her back inside, to the warmth and noise.

" 'Is there a bloody lighter for the candles,' he asked for the hundredth time?" Wesley was demanding.

Dawn went straight to the "miscellaneous" drawer every kitchen has and fetched one. Then she went into the dining room and lit the candles on the table herself as Anya hit the dimmer switch. The meal was assembled with some chaos, and they all took their seats.

Giles sat at the head of the table. To his right was Oz. Anya, Xander, and Willow made up the rest of his side, in that order. Tara sat at the foot of the table. To her right were Angel, Cordelia, Wesley, and finally, Dawn. Angel had a cup of coffee, but no plate.

Just as they all started to dig into the food, Spike walked into the house. He went straight to the kitchen and poured himself a cup about three-quarters full of coffee. To that he added a heaping scoop of cocoa mix and topped it off with half and half and a generous dollop of whipped cream. He and his mocha joined the rest in the dining room, perching on a chair on the periphery.

Willow had been noticing something all evening, tipped off by Tara's question the day before: Angel's eyes had followed her lover wherever Tara had gone, a slightly puzzled expression on his face. He was still doing it, in fact. As soon as the requisite compliments about the food were out of the way and everyone was busy enjoying it, Willow decided to just flat-out ask.

"Angel, is it just my imagination, or do you keep looking at Tara?" The vampire's eyes widened almost comically as everyone at the table suddenly looked at him. Tara blushed deeply. "Seriously, you've been looking at Tara all night. Is there some reason—I mean, besides the obvious?"

Angel shook his head in a puzzled way, looking at Tara again. "I feel like I've seen your face before, Tara. It's like it's on the tip of my brain every time I look at you, but I can't figure out for the life of me who you remind me of."

"I'm sure we've never met," said Tara. "I know I'd remember."

"No, that's not it," Angel murmured, still pensive. "I don't think . . ."

At that moment, Tara turned her head toward Willow, and one of her earrings flashed in the candlelight. Suddenly, Angel's hand shot out and his fingers caught the silver dangle. His eyes were intense, examining the earring. Tara went from looking confused to looking petrified. The whole table had given up any pretense of doing anything except watching this exchange.

"These earrings," Angel said. "Where did you get them?"

"F-family heirlooms?" Tara sounded just as petrified as she looked.

Angel was still looking intently at the earring in his fingers. "Camille," he said suddenly. "Camille Robichaux."

At that, Tara's head snapped back around toward Angel, her eyes widening. "C-Camille? How did you know her?"

"Who was Camille?" asked Willow. She really hadn't expected her innocent question to yield something like this.

"My great-gr-grandmother." Tara's stutter had reappeared, a sure sign of either agitation or excitement. Willow couldn't tell which.

Angel's face softened into a smile. "That explains it. You look so much like her—I can't believe I didn't put it together before."

"You knew Tara's great-grandmother?" asked Xander. "Whoa."

"I think I'd like to second that 'whoa,'" agreed Willow.

"How did you know her?" asked Tara. "Please."

Angel looked slightly uncomfortable at everyone's eyes being on him, but he kept his focus on Tara as he began his story. "I don't remember exactly what year it was—somewhere around 1920 is where I'd ballpark it. I was in Louisiana at the time. Don't remember exactly where, I was just trying to avoid the local vampire populace.

"One night, I was walking down a country road when I saw a horse-drawn wagon being attacked by vampires. Now, at the time, I'd been ensouled for about twenty years, give or take, but I hadn't really gotten the hang of altruism. But when I heard a child scream, I decided to help.

"I don't recall the specifics of the fight, but I know I managed to take out three, maybe four of the vampires before getting knocked out. I kind of expected that to be it, and the thought honestly didn't bother me that much. It was a shock to me when I came to inside a house, with someone tending my wounds."

"What did she look like? Camille?" Tara's attention was focused so completely upon Angel that Willow had the feeling the whole room had disappeared for her.

"A lot like you," said Angel. "Same face shape, same eyes, same mouth. Her hair was a shade lighter than yours, and I don't remember the color of her eyes, and I think she was taller—in fact, I'm sure of it now that I think about it—but otherwise, you look very much like her. She wore those earrings constantly, which is why I finally figured out who you remind me of. I remember at the time thinking she was the most beautiful creature I'd ever seen."

The gentle sincerity with which Angel spoke added extra weight to the compliment. Tara smiled. "Please go on."

"I wondered how she'd gotten me into her house, let alone stopped the vampires. It didn't take me long to figure that out—she was a very powerful witch. She wasn't afraid of me because she didn't have to be. One gesture from her and I couldn't move an inch. I'm not sure she'd really needed my help with the vampires. But I'd tried to help her and her daughter, and that was all that mattered, as far as she was concerned."

"Her daughter," Tara interrupted intently. "Emilie?"

Angel nodded. "Yes, that was her name. She was about three at the time, and very precocious. Completely unafraid of anything."

"My grandmother," Tara murmured. "How long did you know them?"

"Only a few days," Angel said, continuing his narrative. "Camille tended my wounds and even killed a chicken to feed me. She was definitely curious as to why a vampire would want to help her, but I couldn't explain effectively what had happened. You see, she spoke very little English and only Cajun French, which I found nearly incomprehensible. I stayed with her—she lived on a small farm—for a few days, helping her out where I could, and then I left. I wasn't exactly a people person back then."

"As opposed to now," commented Cordelia. Angel jostled her elbow with his.

"Emilie," mused Willow. "Tara, wasn't she . . ."

"The start of the family legend about demon blood in the women of my family," confirmed Tara. "Camille never told who Emilie's father was, and somehow, the rumor got started that Emilie had been sired by a demon."

Angel shook his head. "She wasn't."

Tara looked at him again. "She was . . ?"

"Human to the bone. I'd have smelled it if she'd had demon blood."

Multiple emotions shifted over Tara's face: relief at finally knowing for certain that the family legend was untrue, regret for the women of her family whose lives had been ruled by it, anger at those who had perpetuated it. When her eyes returned to Angel's face, they were moist. Impulsively, she set her broken hand over Angel's.

"Thank you, Angel. You can't know h-how much this means to me."

Angel squeezed her fingers gently. "I'm glad I met you, Tara. Your face brings back good memories. Camille's kindness stayed with me a long time. With her, for the first time, I started to feel—to understand—that maybe having a soul meant more than just pain."

"That is so cool," said Dawn quietly.

"It really is," agreed Willow, a little misty herself. "It's just amazing."

Tara was glowing. "It is. Since my mother died, I don't have anyone who knows family stories—or will tell them."

"How about I see how much I can remember and write it down for you?" suggested Angel.

"That would be wonderful!" Tara looked a bit embarrassed by her outburst. "I mean, if it's not too much trouble, of course."

"Actually, I think I'd like to do it. As I said, it's good memories."

The conversation passed on, then, to Oz. He was persuaded to tell them a little about his life on the road. It appeared the young werewolf had come to something of a rest in Oregon.

"Life's pretty good," he said. "I'm working at an electronics store during the day, and I've started playing with a band on the weekends. They're no Dingoes, but it's still fun. Started taking classes at Western Oregon, too."

"Still a wild man," said Xander.

"Chatty as ever, too," put in Cordelia.

Oz bestowed his best mellow look on them, and he and Angel shared a simpatico smile.

"Cordy," said Willow, "you have to tell them about Pylea."

"Oh, merciful heavens," murmured Wesley.

"What's a Pylea?" Xander wondered.

"It's a demon dimension," Wesley explained. "Giles, are you familiar with Caritas?"

"You mean the club?" asked Giles. Wesley nodded. "As a matter of fact, I am. Can't say I've ever sung there, but I have been inside."

"I've been there, too, a few years ago," said Spike. "Poncy Host told me to stay away from Sunnydale. Should've listened to him."

"What is it?" asked Willow.

"It's a demon karaoke bar," Wesley said.

"What will they think of next?" said Xander.

Wesley took a sip of his wine. "What's special about this particular place is the Host. He's anagogic; sing for him, and he can read your past, present, and future. He also happens to be a demon, but a neutral force. We've had to call upon his abilities from time to time."

"Singing karaoke?" Xander sat up. "You've gotta be kidding. Who sang what?"

Angel was trying to sink into the floor. Cordelia's smile was only getting brighter. Both she and Wesley were looking at Angel, apparently wondering how much leverage they could get from this. He glared back.

"No one tells," he stated.

Cordelia decided not to take him at his word. "Angel sang mmnph." The last word was muffled as Angel's hand clamped over her mouth. She made an outraged noise. Angel focused on Wesley

"You're not telling, either," the vampire said as Cordelia lectured him through his hand.

Wesley folded his hands coolly. "It strikes me that I'm in a position to extort here."

Angel gave a dangerous chuckle. "Really? What if I were to tell them all what you were muttering about in your sleep when you took a nap on the lobby couch a month ago?"

Wesley turned very white, then very red. "You wouldn't!"

"I would."

Cordelia yanked Angel's hand away from her mouth. "What is this? You've had blackmail material on Wesley for a month and didn't tell me about it?"

"This is quality stuff," Angel told her.

"How good?"

"If I wanted to, I could make Wesley demonstrate the Dance of Joy for everyone here."

Wesley squawked. Cordelia instantly switched sides. "Do it!"

Wesley glared at them. "Might I remind you two that I'm in a position to fire the both of you?"

The Seer's eyes widened. "Ooh, now _there's_ an original threat!"

"Better check your credit balance before you make threats like that to Cordy, Wes." Angel took a sip of his coffee.

"Okay, not that this hasn't been fun and all," interrupted Willow, "but Pylea?"

"Precisely. To get back on the point," continued Wesley, "Pylea is the home dimension of the Caritas Host. Cordelia managed to get sucked into it through a portal—and then proceeded to work her way up from slave to princess before we heroes could even come charging to the rescue."

Cordelia looked fairly smug about that. All three of them took turns telling the story (and critiquing each others' storytelling). When they got to the part about the Groosalugg, Wesley and Angel tag-teamed giving Cordelia a hard time. They concluded the story with a flourish, and then the baton was passed to the Scooby Gang.

A little hesitantly at first, because Buffy had been involved, but finally with enthusiasm matching that of their L.A. counterparts, they told about how Willow and Anya had accidentally released Anya's troll ex-boyfriend from his crystal. Even Spike joined into the telling. As that story wrapped up, another began. And so it went.

". . . He sounds like that ogre that got loose in Melrose. That was a mess . . ."

". . . Oh! And remember Buffy having to clean all those grindylows out of Lake Wilkins? I swear that lake is cursed or something . . ."

". . . We had an infestation of saltwater grindylows off of Malibu Beach. Nasty buggers. Bigger than your freshwater variety, too . . ."

". . . Hey, remember when Harmony kidnapped Dawn? Harmony and her minions, if you can imagine that . . ."

". . . We had a problem with Saka demons in L.A., too. Wesley, it turns out, is allergic to them. He had purple blotches all over his face for a week . . ."

". . . the thing exploded and covered all of us with this orange slime that dyed everything we were wearing, right down to the underwear . . ."

". . . and then there was the time Angel got locked in a meat locker and spent hours trying to get free—and he had his cell phone the entire time!"

". . . When Gachnar finally manifested, he was like six inches tall, and Xander was all 'Who's a widdle fear demon?' He was kinda cute, actually. Buffy squashed 'im . . ."

". . . Landok. Picture, if you will, a green-skinned Klingon . . ."

". . . There were two of me, and each side thought the other was the evil one. Tell me it gets weirder than that . . ."

There finally came a moment of silence as they all looked around at each other. Two vampires, one with a soul, the other with a chip. Two witches. A thousand-year-old ex-demon. A Seeress with a direct link to the Powers That Be. A former Watcher. A current Watcher. An ordinary young man with an extraordinary life. A werewolf. A girl who was never born. All brought together because of one exceptional young woman.

Giles raised his wineglass. "Here's to Buffy."

"To Buffy," the others echoed. Wineglasses, water glasses, and ceramic mugs all clinked together as they drank to the Slayer.


	9. Closure

Closure

Closure

Giles leaned on the railing of the back porch, savoring a moment of quiet. He had spoken the least at the dinner table. In spite of his words to Dawn, he'd been unable, even for one moment, to find respite from his grief. Or his guilt. Or his doubts.

"Giles?" called another English-accented voice, very softly. Wesley came and stood beside him. "Is there anything else we can do before we leave?"

"No. No, I don't believe there is." Giles turned to face the younger man. "Thank you for coming, Wesley. You've all been invaluable these past few days."

"I'm glad we could be of service." Wesley's voice held great sincerity. "What are your plans now?"

Giles sighed. "In the short term, I am heading back to England, to the Watchers' Council to give them my final report and my Watcher diaries. While I'm there, I also wish to use their resources to discover what I can about the Key—who the Brotherhood of Dagon was, if there are any more Knights of Byzantium, what that Doc creature might have been, and any other information that may present itself. I am concerned that Glory might not be the only malign force that would seek to use the Key." He frowned. "I am somewhat reluctant to leave Dawn at this juncture, however. Spike seems to take his charge to protect her very seriously, but in spite of his aid during the final battle with Glory, I cannot say I trust him."

Wesley considered it. "We could take Dawn with us while you're gone, if that would make you feel better. Angel is certainly strong enough to protect her, and we're all very fond of her. It would be no imposition whatsoever."

Giles looked at him. "I can't imagine being gone more than a week. If you truly feel it wouldn't be a problem, it would certainly be a load off my mind, knowing Dawn is in good hands."

"I'll ask her if she'd like to come with us. Somehow, I get the feeling she'll say yes. A change of scenery might be good for her, anyway. Who knows—she and Angel might be able to help each other, even.

Giles considered Wesley for a few moments. It seemed impossible that this strong, sensitive, good-humored young man was the same pompous, self-righteous, cowardly know-it-all who had been sent in by the Council to replace Giles when the Watchers had fired him. Had this Wesley been sent to Sunnydale, things might have turned out very differently for all of them.

You've changed, too, Giles reminded himself. He thought of the by-the-book Watcher he'd initially tried to be when he first came to Sunnydale, before he understood that was exactly what wouldn't work with Buffy. He thought of his Ripper days, and how far he'd come since then.

__

"You're a killer," Tara said in her madness.

She saw Dawn's true nature; did she see mine?

Ben struggled feebly against Giles' hand, locked over his nose and mouth.

Perhaps I haven't changed so much.

He turned his mind away from that line of thought and back to Wesley. "You've changed a great deal," the older man observed.

"My emotional maturity is slightly above that of a blueberry scone now, yes." Wesley gave a rueful grin. "A great deal has changed for me over the past two years. For all of us."

"That much is obvious. Tell me one thing: how is it that you are now in charge of the agency?"

The younger man's brow knitted. "Circumstances led Angel to believe that he should no longer wield all the power in the agency. He felt he needed to be in a position of accountability, and thus, I am now technically in charge. More often than not, however, decisions are made by both of us, if not all four." He looked at Giles. "Strangely enough, I now feel I know better than ever what it is—rather, what it should be—to be a Watcher. I also feel I understand now exactly how foolish the Council was to strip you of your position because of your love for Buffy. It is our ties, the friendships and loves we have, that are of utmost importance. Without those, we lose the point of what we're doing and why we're fighting."

"Indeed." Giles felt troubled, and Wesley's words made it crystal clear why. "I do wonder, though, if Buffy knew just how much I . . ." He hadn't really meant to speak those words aloud. But wasn't that always his problem—not speaking words out loud?

"She knew," said Wesley softly, firmly. "There was no way she could not have known."

Giles met his eyes then, feeling almost freed by having confessed his one greatest regret: that he'd never told Buffy he loved her. He held out a hand to Wesley. "Thank you, Wesley. And good luck."

"To you also, Giles." Wesley shook his hand. "I'll find Dawn and ask her if she'd like to come with us."

"Could I?" asked a voice from behind them. Both men turned to see Dawn in the doorway. "Could I go to L.A. with the Fang Gang, Giles?"

"Absolutely," said Giles. "I'm having to fly to England for a week anyway, so I can pick you up when I return, as I'll be coming through LAX."

Dawn hugged Buffy's shawl around her. "What's going to happen to me?"

"Don't worry about that. Not right now. We'll talk about it all when I return." He looked at the child very seriously. "I promise you, Dawn: you'll not be sent anyplace you don't want to go."

The girl nodded, seeming to trust that promise. "Okay. I'll go upstairs and pack now. Thanks, Giles. Thanks, Wesley." She turned to leave, then looked back. "Giles? Wesley's right. Buffy knew. Buffy always knew." With that, she left.

***

Tara watched from the living room as the others cleaned up in the kitchen, and she sighed. She hated having a broken hand. She picked at the cast unconsciously. Someone sat down beside her.

"Hi," said Oz.

"H-hello," Tara stammered.

"Mind some company?" the werewolf asked. He gave her a ghost of a smile. "Promise I won't turn into a wolf."

"Of course. Yes." Oz's presence was unsettling to her, less because she felt threatened by his former relationship with Willow than because of unpleasant memories of their last encounter.

"You and Willow are happy," Oz observed.

Tara nodded, not looking at him. "We are."

"Good." He nodded. "Willow should be happy."

"She's . . . special."

"That she is."

Tara stole a glance at Oz. "What about you? Do you have someone?"

"Her name's Thia," he said. "She's a mage. Pretty strong, too, especially when there's a storm coming."

Tara's interest was piqued. "Magi don't invoke spirits, do they?"

Oz shook his head. "Nope. They manipulate natural energies. Her power's tied to water, so she's stronger near the ocean or during a storm. You have to be born with an affinity for it. Thia's father was also a mage, and she inherited the ability from him." He looked at Tara. "Not unlike famtran witches."

"Yes." Tara looked fully at him. "But even without other witches in your family, you can become very powerful. Willow—she's grown by leaps and bounds. I'm amazed at some of the things she can do."

Oz nodded sagely. "Willow excels at whatever she puts her mind to. Sometimes, though, she needs someone to ground her. You seem like you can do that."

He'd hit on something that had been bothering Tara. She worried about Willow, about the powers she'd invoked to strike back at Glory. Willow sometimes seemed to regard magic as another science experiment, more concerned with whether she could do something rather than whether she should. As Tara met Oz's eyes, she knew he understood.

"I hope so," she said softly.

He looked at her for another few moments, seeming satisfied. "I think I'll say my goodbyes now. It's been nice talking to you, Tara," he said, holding out his left hand to her.

She took his hand. "It has been nice. Good luck, Oz."

He looked at her, a slight smile creasing his face again. "You and Willow take care of each other."

"We will. We always will."

***

Angel stood looking into Buffy's room one last time. It had been rearranged since Buffy's senior year, but so much was the same. The same window he'd come in and out of, where he'd kissed her for the first time. Mr. Gordo still sat on her nightstand. The same scents she'd always worn, vanilla and orange. Pictures on the wall of her and her family—Joyce, Dawn, Xander, Willow, and Giles. The room looked like she would return at any moment. But she wouldn't, not ever again.

"Angel?" It was Wesley's voice. The ex-Watcher came to stand beside him. "Are you all right?"

"Not completely," said Angel. "Not for awhile, I think."

Wesley's brow creased. "Is there some reason the molding's cracked?"

Angel looked at it. "I did that the first night I was here. It was an accident."

"Ah."

Angel almost laughed. Wesley was so transparent. The vampire turned to face him.

"I'm not going to go crazy, Wesley. I won't do anything rash, I promise." He hugged himself a little. "Going dark—that would dishonor Buffy's memory. She . . . gave me something. Something I never expected. She showed me a light within myself that I never knew was there. With her, for the first time since I was a mortal, I could love and be loved. I never knew, never felt worthy . . . and that's why I've got to go on. She made me believe in something stronger than the darkness. You and Cordy, you've helped me to find my strength. She helped me to find my light." He shook his head, a sad smile touching his face. "Am I making sense?"

Wesley set a hand on Angel's shoulder. "I understand exactly what you're saying. We're here for you. Whenever you need us, we're here."

Angel nodded. "I know, Wesley. And that's what makes all the difference."

With that, he stepped forward, drawing Wesley into a strong embrace. It wasn't something the two men were in the habit of doing, but at this moment, it felt exactly right.

***

"I still can't believe you're getting married," Cordelia told Xander. "Married! You! It's like, a foreign concept."

Cordelia, Xander, Willow, Anya, and Tara were all gathered in the living room. Oz had left a few minutes ago after saying quiet goodbyes to everyone. Cordelia was sitting by Tara on the couch, Xander was sitting in a chair with Anya in front of him, giving her a neck rub, and Willow was perched on the coffee table.

Xander rolled his eyes. "A foreign concept or, say, against the laws of God and nature?"

Willow attempted to turtle her head into her shoulders under Cordelia's glare. After a moment, the Seer returned her gaze to Xander. "Whatever. You just make sure I get an invitation, or you're dead meat."

Xander grinned. "You got it."

"You are the reason we got together, after all," put in Anya, who'd been purring under Xander's attentions. "If you hadn't been so mad at Xander, I'd never have been called to Sunnydale and gotten stripped of my powers."

"Sunnydale's a good place for gettin' neutered, all right," opined Spike, walking in. "Speaking of neutered, by the way—Miss Cordelia, what is my sire doing with your scent absolutely all over him?" He looked entirely too smug.

Cordelia gave an impatient sigh. "If you must know, Angel and I slept together."

Spike's smug look gave way to blank surprise. Willow jumped in.

"It's the truth. Xander and I caught them in bed together."

Xander picked it up. "Yeah. Bit of a surprise, but we figure, consenting adults. As long as he doesn't go evil, we're okay with it."

"Oh, don't worry," said Cordelia. "I keep him very unhappy."

If there was one thing Spike hated, it was a joke he wasn't in on. He looked from one deadpan face to the next. "Are you people just funning with me, or what?"

Dawn walked down the stairs, carrying a duffel and still wearing Buffy's shawl. She sat down by Cordelia, who looked at the bag, then at Dawn.

"Where are you going?"

"With you," Dawn said. "Giles was worried about leaving me while he goes to England, and Wesley said I could come with you guys to L.A. for the week."

Cordelia squealed and pulled Dawn into her arms. "That's wonderful! You and I will have the greatest time."

Dawn leaned on her, not nearly as enthusiastic. "I don't know if I'll be the best company."

Cordelia just squeezed her. "Hey, I put up with Mr. Doom 'n Gloom on a daily basis. I'm sure you'll be an improvement."

Spike, meanwhile, was liking this not a bit. "You're going with Angel and his Charlies, Niblet? You don't want to do that."

Dawn cracked a smile. "Angel's Charlies. I like that. I'll be fine, Spike."

"She'll be fine, Spike," Cordelia stated, giving the vampire a stony look.

Willow wasn't looking very happy, either. "You sure, Dawnie? You can stay with any of us, anytime."

"I know." Dawn shrugged listlessly. "I think . . . I need a break from Sunnydale, you know?"

Xander and Willow traded a look. "I know, Dawnie," said Xander. "Make sure and keep in touch, though. You've got my email, don't you?"

"Yeah. Willow's, too." She settled against Cordelia.

Xander shook his head, looking at them. "I just can't get over it."

"What?" asked Cordelia.

"You guys. I dunno—you go without seeing someone for awhile, and when you see them again, you somehow think they'll be the same as when you saw them the last time. You guys, you and Wesley and Angel, even, you're all so different."

"Yeah? What about you, Mr. Gettin' Married Man?" Cordelia asked. "Everybody changes."

"It's the way of the world," came Angel's voice. He entered the living room, wearing his coat and ready to go. Wesley was with him. "Sorry to have to break things up, but we've got to get moving, Cordy."

Cordelia sighed. "Ready to go, Dawn?"

Spike stood, looking at Angel. "I can protect her just fine here, you know."

"We're not competing, Spike." Angel gave him a hard look. "Dawn wants to go with us. I can protect her. End of story."

Spike backed down, but didn't look cowed in the least. Angel held out a hand to Cordelia, helping her up.

The Scoobies, Giles and significant others included, accompanied the Fang Gang out to the Angelmobile. Hugs and goodbyes were exchanged. Cordelia hugged Willow, Xander shook Angel and Wesley's hands, and Spike ruffled Dawn's hair affectionately.

"See you soon, Little Bit." He turned and walked away. "Real soon," he added under his breath, and went to find a car to hotwire.

"Thank you all for coming," Giles told the Fang Gang. "I do hope the next time we meet will be for a better reason."

"Like my wedding," said Xander, arm around Anya's shoulders.

"Yes. Come. And bring many presents," added Anya.

***

Before they left town, Angel wanted to make one last stop. As his friends watched respectfully, he knelt by Buffy's grave. He could feel the consecration of the ground and knew it would drive off most of his kind—but not a heart so true. He touched the gravestone.

"I love you," he murmured. "Always. I'll never forget the gift you gave me, Buffy. Doesn't matter how long I live. And I'll always watch over Dawn—I promise."

For a long moment, he just knelt there, taking his leave of his beloved. He gradually became aware of another presence. He looked up to find Dawn standing a few feet away, a tear running down her cheek as she clutched Buffy's shawl around her.

Angel stood, turning toward her, and Dawn slipped into his arms. They stood like that, looking at Buffy's grave and sharing their unique sorrows.

Angel kissed her hair. "We'll be all right, Dawn," he promised. "We will."

"We will." She spoke softly, but sounded almost sure.

Together, they turned and left.

***

That's the end of this story. It will have a sequel on the Angel side of things once the author has had a chance to rest her fingers a bit. Thanks for sticking through this one, and please leave a review if you enjoyed it. I'd also love to hear from you at ksheasley@yahoo.com.

Acknowledgments: Thanks again to Tanja and Gyrus, my darling betas. I can't say how much you two helped. Major thanks to Gyrus for creating the fight scene in Chapter 7.

Note: "Liebestraum" means "dream of love" in German.


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